


Cross My Heart, Hope To Ride

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel (Supernatural), Dean's Tiny Red Shorts, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Asexual Castiel, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid Claire Novak, Light Angst, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: *EDIT 3/3/19*This fic needs a serious overhaul for grammar, spelling, and continuity. I appreciate all who read it & enjoy it but it's not quite up to my standards. Until I revise, please be kind with your feedback. Thank you.-"Hello, Dean. It's Castiel. We- you... hate my car."Castiel's job sucks. His car sucks. His life, in general, sucks. He's not anywhere near a midlife crisis, but he feels something within him... slipping.Enter Dean Winchester, who is pretty sure all of Castiel's issues could be resolved if he would just set his piece of shit car on fire and go buy a new one. Bit by bit, Dean and his daughter Claire melt the ice frozen around Castiel's cranky, bitter heart. Bit by bit, Castiel starts to think that maybe... maybe, things aren't so bad after all. His grey life is slowly starting to bleed color.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey all! i didn't think i would be coming back to soon with another chaptered fic, but my sweet sweet [Michi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27/pseuds/Michi27) tweeted a little scenario that immediately got my gears turning ♥  
> special thanks to [sam](https://twitter.com/the_endverse) and, laughingly, my co-worker david for beta'ing this for me!  
> i will be adding tags as i update, because i don't want to spoil anything, so keep an eye on those with each new chapter!  
> this story is a little challenge to myself.  
> strap in babes!

The surrounding sounds and hum of the gas station is almost comforting and familiar as Castiel steps out of his car and rounds it to stand in front of the gas pump. He pulls out his debit card and slides it into the slot, selects his fuel, and then opens up the gas door on his car to start filling it up. He leans against the side of his car and slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks, his tie billowing softly in the early morning breeze. He’s not looking forward to going to work today; there’s a deadline due in about four hours and while he’s almost done with the report, he knows that his boss, Crowley, will still find something wrong with it. Which is ridiculous, because Castiel has been an accountant for fifteen years, he _knows_ what he’s doing - but Crowley uses him as an example for pretty much every other employee. In retrospect, Castiel knows that Crowley fixates on him because he knows Castiel is the best, but it’s still… bothersome. 

Witholding a sigh, Castiel allows his gaze to wander around the gas station lot. Other people are stopped for a fill up, some with coffee in their hands, some scrolling through their phones; the parking lot is filled with people filing in and out of the mini mart and Castiel enjoys the people watching, feeling like this morning in particular is especially peaceful.

A man walks out of the Gas n’ Sip and Castiel immediately loses all sense of peace.

He’s _gorgeous_ , wearing tight denim jeans, a red flannel, and a leather jacket. There’s a smile on his face and a helmet tucked under one arm, his other hand holding the tiny fingers of a little blonde girl, who also has a helmet tucked under one of her arms, her outfit consisting of leggings and a frilly purple tutu. She looks to be about seven or eight, and Castiel feels the warmth from the man’s smile as he directs it down at her. They’re quite the pair - she’s also wearing a leather jacket, a pink skull and crossbones on the back, and when they approach a parked motorcycle, Castiel watches with unexplainable fondness and amusement as the man puts the Gas n’ Sip bag in the saddlebag by the seat and then sets his helmet down so he can start gathering up the little girl’s beautiful curly blonde locks into a low ponytail. Once he’s done that (with a neatness that leaves Castiel impressed), he helps put the helmet on the little girl’s head, takes care to fasten it, and then dons his own helmet. They climb on the motorcycle and the little girl hugs him tightly, plastered to his back, and when the man starts the engine and revs it she cheers excitedly before they pull out of the parking lot.

The clank of the gas nozzle stopping breaks Castiel out of his stupor. 

Castiel comes to the gas station at the same time on the same day once a week, and he’s never seen the man before. A glance to his watch makes him think that the man must have been a little late in getting his daughter to school, so this was probably not a routine stop for them. Putting the gas nozzle away and getting back into his car, Castiel laments the fact that he’ll probably never see the guy again.

Oh well. It was heartwarming to see such an attractive man be so good to his daughter. Even if it’d only been a snapshot of their daily life, Castiel felt a little better about the world. His own relationship with his father could be considered dismal at best, especially considering the man passed nearly five years ago, so seeing parents do well with their children always tugs at his heartstrings pleasantly. 

The fact the man was wearing leather and drove a motorcycle also might have something to do with Castiel’s particular regard for the situation. 

Turning the key in the ignition, Castiel accepts the fact that he'll die of old age alone, and then pulls out of the gas station to head to work. 

\--

The following week, Castiel sees the motorcycle parked when he pulls up to a pump. He hadn’t really been paying attention last time, but it looks like the same motorcycle from last week and… oh. Yes. The handsome man and his pretty daughter exit the gas station, leather and flannel and tulle, and they’re both laughing as the man picks up the little girl and puts her on the bike so he can reach the straps of her helmet without bending over so much. Castiel fumbles a little with the nozzle of the pump and accidentally rams it into the side of his car (twice) before finally fitting it into his gas tank, swallowing thickly. It’s so sweet to see the man taking care of his little girl - and in Castiel’s long ignored libido, it’s equally amazing to see the man throw his leg over the seat of his bike and settle himself down as he fastens his helmet. 

It’s once again just before seven-thirty in the morning, and Castiel has to wonder if the man and his daughter stop by the gas station every day before school (assuming that’s where she’s going). Their grocery bag is never stuffed to the brim; it looks to hold a few bottle of waters and a couple of other small items. With his hands in his trench coat, Castiel leans against his car to observe the man pulling on a pair of leather gloves. He flicks the visor to his helmet down, the heels of his boots clicking on the pavement as he starts his motorcycle and starts walking it backwards out of its parking spot. The helmet turns in Castiel’s direction and he feels his heart leap into his throat - did the man see him staring? - but then the man’s head is on swivel again as his little girl wraps her arms around his thick torso and kicks her feet excitedly before settling them on the pegs. 

They take off, and Castiel lets out a breath. Mortified at even the thought of being caught staring so blatantly, he dismally wonders if he should start filling up on the weekends. 

He puts the nozzle back and takes his receipt from the pump, rounding his car to get behind the wheel. Even if the man had seen him staring, _everyone_ people watches as they’re filling up their tanks, right? So it’s not like it’d be totally weird if someone were watching the guy get on his bike and leave. 

Castiel sighs and wrings the steering wheel idly under his hands. 

He wants to see the man and his little girl again. He’ll just do his best to be less of a creep.

Next time.

\--

Next time, the pump rejects Castiel’s debit card and on the third try he rolls his eyes at the screen flashing _SEE CASHIER_ repeatedly. Making sure his car is locked Castiel walks towards the building, holding the door open for a woman on her way out. He returns her smile with a small, polite one of his own and then moves to stand in line; apparently all of the pumps are rejecting cards, and Castiel feels kind of bad for the poor clerk apologizing and trying to get through the line as quickly as possible.

“You’ll have to ask your mom next time if that’s something you can have.”

“But daddy- you know she’ll say no!”

A deep, rich chuckle. “Exactly. And I’m not gonna be the bad guy by allowing you to have it.”

“She doesn’t have to know~”

“That’s sneaky, Claire.”

“But _daaaaad_ -”

“Tell you what: You ace your spelling quiz today and we’ll bake some brownies at home after dinner. None of this processed crap. Deal?”

An excited giggle. “Deal!”

Castiel tugs on the sash of his trench coat idly as he listens to the exchange. He knows it’s the father-daughter duo and he desperately wants to turn around and look at the man up close, but he’s still worried about being a creeper, so he keeps his gaze resolutely forward. When it’s his turn at the counter, Castiel hands over his debit card and says “twenty on three”, ears pricking when the man behind him whistles.

“That your Continental?” 

Surprised that he’s being addressed about his car, of all things, Castiel turns slightly so he can look at the man. Oh- up close he is _devastatingly_ good looking. Freckled skin, green eyes, white teeth. Nearly tongue-tied, Castiel just stiffly nods his head. “Yes.”

“Your back right tire is low,” the man says helpfully, charming smile on his lips. “Might as well save yourself the trouble and buy a totally new car.”

Castiel bristles, “My car is fine.”

“You sure about that?” The man scratches the side of his nose idly, smile turning playful. “It’s rattling.”

“I’m still far from my midlife crisis. I think buying a new car is a ways off for me.” Castiel says, a little testily. Defensively. Oh, no. 

The man takes it in stride, glancing down at his daughter and ruffling her curly blonde hair. “Whaddya think, Claire? Doesn’t this nice man deserve more than that beat up old car?” 

Claire wrinkles her nose. “That’s not a nice thing to say to a nice man, daddy.” 

The man laughs. “Called out by a kid.” He turns his smile towards Castiel. “I’m just busting your balls.”

“Daddy!”

“But really, you should get that rattle checked out. Sounds like your muffler is gonna fall off.”

“Does it?” This is news to Castiel. The clerk clears his throat and Castiel takes his debit card from the clerk, stepping off to the side so the man can put two bottles of water and two protein bars on the counter. “Are you a mechanic?”

“It’s a side hobby,” Dean says. He pulls his wallet from the front pocket of his jeans and puts a few bills on the counter. “You in a rush? I can take a quick look at it.”

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Castiel says, glancing down at Claire. 

Claire just beams up at him, “I don’t mind!”

The man rolls his eyes, “‘Course you don’t, it’s a school day.”

“We have late start,” Claire tells Castiel, “so daddy takes me on rides before we go to school.”

Castiel can’t help but let out a little smile, even if he’s not the best with children. “That sounds very fun.”

The man grabs the bag from the clerk and starts to shuffle them all towards the door, “Alright, let’s go take a look at that thing you think passes as a vehicle.”

The three of them exit the gas station and head towards the pump, Claire holding on to her dad’s hand tightly. Castiel feels a little odd, going from watching the pair wistfully and then being swept up in their kind smiles and sweet personalities, but he tries to take it in stride as they get to his car. Immediately the man lets go of Claire’s hand so he can drop down to the pavement on his hands and knees by the rear fender, crouching so he can peer up under the body of the car. Castiel pointedly _doesn’t_ stare at his ass, choosing to continue with the task of filling up his gas tank. After a few moments the man stands up and dusts off the knees of his pants, sending Castiel a smile.

“Yeah- your muffler’s on its last legs.”

Frowning slightly, Castiel stares at the bumper of his car. “I just had my oil changed and the mechanic said nothing.”

The man shrugs, “Auto shops aren’t always the most honest of places.”

“Do you have any recommendations?” Castiel asks curiously. The gas nozzle clicks and he pulls it out of his tank, hooking it back on the pump before closing up his gas cap. 

“No,” the man laughs, “but if you’re free on Sunday you can swing by my place and I can fix it up lickity split for you.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows in surprise, “You would do that?” 

“All you gotta do is pay for parts. I can’t let you drive around like this,” the man says, “not in good conscience.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Castiel says, honesty lacing his words.

The man seems to get a little self conscious under Castiel’s heavy gaze.. “Nah- it’s nothing, really.” 

Claire tugs on the man’s hand, “Daddy, we need to go.”

“Ah, shit,” the man startles a little. He pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a business card, that charming smile resurfacing over his features. “Gimme a call and I’ll give you directions to my place.” He then points at Castiel. “ _Don’t_ go to a shop. You got ‘sucker’ written all over you.”

Castiel feels a flush dust over his cheeks, an incredibly inappropriate comment almost passing his lips. Instead, he nods and sends the man a small smile. “Thank you. I will call.” He addresses Claire next, inclining his head in a polite bow. “Good luck on your spelling test.”

Claire grins and gives him a thumbs up, “Thanks!”

The man takes her hand and his gaze flits over Castiel’s form for the briefest of moments, before allowing Claire to drag him away. “See ya later, suits.”

Castiel doesn’t grace him with a reply, too derailed by the almost _hungry_ look in the man’s eye. He glances down at the business card clutched in his fingers, **DEAN WINCHESTER** the name emblazoned across the top. The sound of the motorcycle blaring to life makes him glance up just in time to see Dean sending him a salute, head covered by his helmet, but Castiel knows the man is smirking behind the hard plastic. Claire also offers a wave and then they’re shooting off down the road, Castiel once again looking down at the business card. It doesn’t reveal much; the man’s name, his home and cell numbers. Flipping it over, Castiel blinks at the photo of Dean’s motorcycle in front of a checkered flag background, ever curious.

“Get it together, Novak,” he chastises himself as he gets into his car. He starts it and then strains his ears, the soft clanking coming from the rear of his car registering. Dean was just being nice- offering services that he knows people are afraid to take advantage of. He has a daughter, his daughter has a mom, so by default, Dean is probably happily married and enjoys his family very much and doesn’t need a lonely, boring accountant to come in and be a homewrecker.

Ha. As if Castiel has the balls to be a homewrecker.

By the time Castiel makes it work there’s a dark cloud hanging over his head. He sits heavily in his chair and turns on his computer, running a hand through his hair as he waits for it to boot up. His coffee maker broke last week and he’s been without caffeine in the morning since and is definitely feeling it now; he leans back in his chair, staring at the generic Windows background on his monitor. Dean’s a nice guy. Castiel has been single for a very, very long time. It’s totally normal for him to get butterflies when in the presence of such an attractive man. An attractive man that knows his way around cars, is super sweet to his daughter, has a really great ass-

“Cassie~” 

Castiel sends the man standing in the door of his office the most dead expression he can manage. “Balthazar.”

“What’s got your panties in a twist today?” Balthazar asks. He slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he rests his shoulder against the door jamb. 

“My panties are not in a twist,” Castiel grouses. He pulls today’s ‘to do’ stack of files towards himself, hoping his body language is enough to get Balthazar to leave him alone.

No such luck, because Balthazar steps into Castiel’s office so he can take a seat in one of the chairs reserved for clients. He relaxes into it and crosses his legs primly, “Did you ever go on that date with Mick?”

“I’m on the clock, Balthazar. I’m not obligated to talk about my personal life with you.” Castiel says, opening his briefcase so he can grab his glasses case.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Balthazar sighs. “Cassie, he’s very into you.”

“And an intern,” Castiel replies. He puts his glasses on his face and gives Balthazar A Look. “I will not date someone who works for the same company as me.”

“Break a few rules for once in your straight-A life,” Balthazar groans. “Live a little. One teeny tiny date won’t mean anything on the grand scale.”

“If Crowley catches wind, it will.” Castiel opens up the file on the top of the stack. “Besides, Mick is a nice person, but I don’t think dating is in the cards for us.”

Balthazar rolls his eyes, “What’s not to like about him?”

“His propensity to liquor,” Castiel says. “He’s messy. I don’t think he’s ever been on time to anything in his life.”

“No wonder you can’t get a date,” Balthazar mumbles.

Castiel looks at the other man evenly, “Get out of my office, Balthazar.”

Balthazar stands with a flourish, but doesn’t look at all accosted. “You deserve to be happy, Castiel.”

“A workplace romance isn’t the solution,” Castiel says, “when I can barely stand being in the workplace at all.” An almost sympathetic expression crosses Balthazar’s features, and Castiel huffs a little, not wanting a single cent spent on sympathy from _Balthazar_ of all people. “Get to work, Bal. We have a deadline.”

Shrugging, Balthazar turns to leave. “At least have a cup of coffee, for God’s sake, before someone more faint of heart gets struck down by you.”

Once Balthazar is gone, Castiel sighs and rubs his forehead idly with his fingers. He’s normally a little cloudy upon entry to the building, but for Balthazar to actually seek him out and call him out on his bullshit means that Castiel’s mood is palpable. Which, unfortunately, means that Crowley will be catching wind of Castiel’s mood and will, therefore, also come in to grind on Castiel’s nerves. He figures he has about ten minutes before his boss decides to waltz into his office, and Castiel takes the chance to go over a few things from yesterday to make sure there are no errors before turning in the report. 

Satisfied that things are in order, he clicks ‘submit’ and is just standing up from his seat, thinking that even break room coffee will be fine at this point, when Crowley appears in his door. 

“Novak,” Crowley greets.

Castiel resists an eye roll, but he stays standing. “Crowley.”

“Having a bit of a rough start are we?” Crowley asks, like he doesn’t know.

“Car trouble,” Castiel says by way of explanation. It’s not a _lie_.

Crowley wrinkles his nose a little. “You wouldn’t be having car trouble if you would trade in that tin can for something a little classier.”

“There’s nothing classier than a Continental,” Castiel says.

“Circa 1978,” Crowley agrees. He nods his head. “Where you off to?”

“I have yet to have a cup of coffee,” Castiel says, smoothing his tie down against his chest. “Unless you can magically put one in my hand, I’ll have to cut our lovely conversation short so I may go to the break room and fix a cup.” He rounds the desk and doesn’t give a flying crap that he’s blowing off his boss. 

“Of course,” Crowley nods his head. “I’m just here to remind you that numbers are due at the beginning of next week.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Castiel growls under his breath. 

Crowley manages to _laugh_ as Castiel passes him. “There’s my cheerful little sprite. Enjoy your cuppa.”

Castiel doesn’t grace him with a reply as he heads down the hallway towards where the cubicles are, tugging at the knot of his tie. For the millionth time in the past month he wonders why he doesn’t just quit his job, but then he’s reminded of cumbersome things like bills and food and knows that he can’t just up and leave the most financially stable job he’s had since graduating college. He passes by the workers at the cubicles and at the last minute makes a detour so he doesn’t have to walk by Mick, ducking into the breakroom and then letting out a sigh. He fixes himself a cup of coffee with way too much sugar, and when he leans against the counter for a sip, he finds himself pulling Dean’s business card out of his pocket so he can stare at the picture of his motorcycle thoughtfully. 

Even if he’s straight, Castiel could use more friends, and Dean had seemed like a genuinely nice person. Feeling a little better about the prospect of meeting someone new who doesn’t immediately annoy the ever living hell out of him, Castiel allows himself a smile as he heads back to the office. 

A small thing, but he already feels marginally better. 

\--

Sunday morning has Castiel dressed in comfortable jeans and a hoodie, staring at Dean’s business card. He flicks the tiny piece of cardboard back and forth between his fingers, his phone in his other hand, and then finally hits ‘send’, his heart hammering in his chest as he lifts his phone up to his ear.

Dean answers on the third ring, “Winchester.”, his voice rich and thick. 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel greets, before almost smacking himself in the head. Dean doesn’t know who’s calling him. Real smooth. “It’s Castiel. We- you… hate my car.” 

“Oh-” Dean lets out a cheery laugh. “Lincoln Continental guy. You’re right, I do hate your car.”

Castiel feels himself lifting slightly, Dean’s good mood infectious. “I hope you won’t pass judgment on me so harshly.”

“You don’t look half as beat up,” Dean chuckles.

“Thank you?” Castiel replies, but there’s a huge smile on his lips. 

“Anyway, you callin’ for directions?” 

“Yes, please. The rattling has gotten worse,” Castiel says, barely managing to suppress a sigh.

“S’all good, I’ll fix it right up for you,” Dean says. He then rattles off his address while Castiel pulls his phone away from his ear to type it into Google maps.

“You’re ten minutes away,” Castiel says, bringing his phone back up to his ear. “When is good for you?”

“Now’s a good a time as any,” Dean says carelessly. “I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on.”

“Music to my ears,” Castiel says. “I’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up and glances down at himself, wondering if he should change. He’s unsure if he’ll be helping Dean at all, but at the same time, Castiel thinks that he wants to learn a thing or two from someone who’s willing to teach him. He moves to the bedroom to take off his hoodie and switch his nice tshirt to an old Zeppelin tee, the fabric soft and stretchy from years of wear. He tugs his hoodie back on and then grabs his keys and wallet, making his way towards the door of his apartment. Inside his car the rattling is louder than ever and he feels like an idiot all over again for not noticing it in the first place, but he pushes that thought to the back of his mind. It takes a bit longer than ten minutes to pull into Dean’s driveway, and when he does, Castiel tries not to worry about just how shitty his car is because _wow_ , Dean’s house is _beautiful_. Two stories, a large front porch, a detached garage that looks like it could house a boat and perhaps three cars, and a prettily manicured lawn.

Dean is sitting on a cushioned porch swing when Castiel pulls up, wearing faded jeans and a grey henley, a cup of coffee resting on his knee, another cup of coffee in his left hand. He stands up when Castiel parks and moves down the steps with a smile, greeting Castiel as he exits his car. 

“Mornin’,” Dean greets, holding out one of the mugs towards Castiel.

Castiel takes it with an emphatic “thank you” before bringing it up for a deep drink. It’s dark and delicious and bitter and Castiel licks his lips, ignoring the amused smile Dean is sending him. This man is perfect.

“Not a morning person?” 

“Typically only when I’m paid to be,” Castiel replies easily. “Thank you for the coffee. My percolator broke last week and I haven’t been able to get a new one yet.”

“Bummer,” Dean says. “When you drain your cup you can pull further up the driveway and park in front of the garage.”

“Do you think you can show me what you’re doing?” Castiel asks, deciding to forgo any embarrassment. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about cars, and after all of this, I think it is a good time to learn a few things.”

Dean brightens. “Sure, man. We can go over some basics.”

“Thank you,” Castiel drains his coffee without caring about the fact that he basically chugged it, passing the empty mug back to Dean. “I’ll pull up.”

Once Castiel’s car is parked in front of Dean’s garage Dean opens one of the rolling doors, revealing a workshop stacked with tools, benches, and tables, and a whole slew of things that Castiel has only ever seen in a mechanic shop. Dean takes the time to show Castiel how to jack up the car properly, and once everything is situated safely, Dean rounds to the back of the car to check out the muffler situation. He uses his foot to pull a crawler towards him and then gets on his back gracefully, swinging underneath the rear fender. Castiel folds his arms over his chest, unsure of what help he can be; all he can see is Dean’s legs from the thigh down, and while that’s a pleasant enough sight on its own, he wonders what he can do.

“Hiiiii~!”

Castiel turns around in surprise to see Claire riding up on her bicycle, blonde ringlets flowing in the wind, a unicorn helmet strapped to her head. He smiles warmly at her and watches as she puts down the kickstand, carefully climbing off of her bicycle, which he notes is Batman themed.

“Hello.” Castiel greets.

She bounces up towards him and holds out her hand. “Daddy said I should introduce myself right! I’m Claire.”

“Nice to meet you, Claire,” Castiel replies, taking her tiny hand in his own and giving it a delicate shake. “I am Castiel.”

“Castee…” Claire wrinkles her nose a little.

“Cas-tee-el,” he repeats a bit slower.

“Cas… Casteel. Castielle.”

Dean snorts from under the car. “How ‘bout ‘Cas’?”

Castiel glances at Dean’s boots. “That’s fine.” Better than ‘Cassie’ or any other feminization of his name people seem to come up with.

“Cas! Nice to meet you.” Claire shakes his hand vigorously. “Daddy’s fixing your car?”

“Yes, he’s being very kind.” 

“Claire,” Dean grunts as he wheels out from under the fender. “Did you go to Alex’s?” 

“Yes, but she had to go to church.” Claire picks idly at some chipped pink nail polish on her index finger.

“Why didn’t you go?” Dean asks, wheeling back under the car.

Claire huffs a little, “Didn’t wanna.” 

“Fair enough,” Dean chuckles, voice muffled now that he’s back under the car. “Well go inside and wash up. Are you still going to Kaia’s?”

“Her mom will be here at eleven,” Claire replies. She crouches down into a squat, feet flat on the ground, as she peers under the car at her dad. “Can’t I stay here and help?”

“You promised Kaia that you would go to swimming lessons with her,” Dean says patiently. “And afterwards you’re going to see a movie.”

Claire pouts a little. “But I wanna hang out with you and Cas.” 

Dean pulls out from under the car, sitting up and clapping his hands idly. “I know baby girl, but you can’t bail on your friends. Besides,” he sends a playful smile up towards Castiel, “I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing more of this car.”

Castiel groans a little. “Is it that bad?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, you just need a new one,” Dean says as he stands up. He turns Claire by her shoulders and pushes her gently towards the house, “Go wash up and clean your bowl from this morning and I’ll give you an extra five bucks for snacks at the theater.”

Claire squeals happily and skips away without needing further prompting and Castiel watches her go, an amused smile pulling at his lips. “She’s very cute.”

“She’s a good girl,” Dean says with a nod and a pleased grin. He picks up a rag that he’d put on the trunk of the car, wiping his hands. “Once she’s gone we’ll head to the parts store to pick up the muffler and then we’ll come back and get it fixed. We’ve got some time to kill- wanna look under the hood?” 

“Sure,” Castiel says. They both move to the front of the car and Dean lowers the jack a little so they can reach inside easily, and Castiel does his best to pay attention to everything Dean is saying. He commits to memory where the radiator cap is, the battery, the oil and the dipstick, the timing belt, and the air filter - and when Dean quizzes him Castiel recites everything perfectly while pointing to each part. Dean seems incredibly pleased and he claps Castiel on the shoulder, his hand lingering for the briefest of moments before Claire calls from the driveway.

“Kaia’s mom is here!”

Dean pulls away from Castiel and moves to Claire so he can scoop her up into his arms, Castiel doing his best to not pay attention to the way Dean’s shoulders and arms flex as he lifts her. “Alright, punk rock princess. You be good.” He sets her down and she holds out her hand, and he laughs outright as he pulls his wallet from his pants. He hands her a five dollar bill and taps her nose, “Anything but milk duds.”

“Yes sir!” she says, before she peeks around him. “Bye, Cas!” 

“Bye, Claire,” Castiel says, giving a small wave. 

Claire runs down the driveway to where a minivan is parked and when they pull away, Dean stares after them for a moment. Castiel comes up to his side, contemplating the fond look in the other man’s eyes, and then speaks softly. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “We’ll take my car.”

“Not your motorcycle?” Castiel asks a bit wryly. 

Dean laughs as he moves to the man door separating his workspace from the actual garage. “You probably don’t wanna ride bitch til’ at least the fourth date.” 

Castiel feels heat swoop in his belly at those words. “Could we both fit on it?”

“It’d be a tight squeeze,” Dean says as Castiel enters the garage. He flicks on the light, and Castiel almost loses his breath at the sight of the gorgeous muscle car gleaming under the fluorescent lights above. “But this is my preferred method of transportation.” 

“Wow,” Castiel murmurs under his breath. 

Dean tosses him what could definitely be interpreted as a flirty smile as he opens up the driver’s side door. “Hop in.” 

Both inside the car, Castiel’s senses getting assaulted by leather and motor oil, Dean backs them out of the driveway and starts heading down the street. There’s classic rock filtering from the speakers at a low volume and Castiel drums his fingers idly on his thigh, enjoying the silence. It’s an easy quiet, and Dean seems pretty comfortable in it as well, and Castiel feels, once again, that terrible tug in his heart (and mind) that reminds him that Dean is unattainable. 

“You said you fix cars as a side hobby?” he decides the break the silence, because even though Dean has a wife and kid, Castiel can still be his friend. 

“Yeah,” Dean shifts idly in his seat. “Grew up working on cars with my dad. S’only thing that kept us talking to each other, honestly.”

“Ah,” Castiel nods. Typical macho father-son stuff, he supposes, though he doesn’t have a very wide frame of reference for that, since his own father passed away when he was a child. 

“Thought about opening up my own shop, but then decided I didn’t wanna bother. So I just do it on the side- help out friends and family and don’t ask for anything but booze and food in return.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” Castiel commends. “In any case, I’m very thankful we were at the same place at the same time so you could help me.” 

“I noticed it before,” Dean says. Castiel glances over at him in surprise, and Dean rubs the back of his neck idly with his free hand. “The week before. I heard it when you pulled up, but it’d be kinda weird for me to just come up to you in a parking lot and tell you your car sounds fucked.”

“So you did it inside the gas station instead?” Castiel asks, deadpan. 

Dean barks out a laugh, “Yeah- not much better I guess but it was all I had.” 

Castiel can’t help but smile. “I’m still thankful.”

A comfortable silence falls over them, and when Dean parks his car in the lot of a parts store Castiel follows him inside. He recognizes a few things but couldn’t begin to think about how they relate to a car, specifically, so he just absorbs Dean’s presence as he hangs out in his shadow while he peruses. After a few moments Dean seems to find what he’s looking for, pulling down a binder on a retractable cord from a shelf and flipping through it. Castiel watches curiously as Dean’s finger slides over the laminated pages, admiring his strong digits, and- oh. Wait. Dean isn’t wearing a wedding ring.

Castiel tries not to feel hope bubble up in his chest. Lots of men don’t wear wedding bands for various reasons; and, likely, Dean took his off today because he knew he was going to be getting greasy and dirty while working on Castiel’s car. Swallowing and taking a step away from Dean to calm his errant thoughts, Castiel chews his lower lip and slides his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. Maybe being friends with Dean will be more difficult than he initially thought. And who’s to say that, even if Dean _were_ single, that he’d be into men? 

“Here we go,” Dean announces. He snaps the binder shut and puts it back in place on the shelf, clapping Castiel’s shoulder as he passes. “Found the one we need, now we just gotta ask for it.”

Castiel follows him up towards the counter, where Dean taps the service bell. The ding echoes throughout the store and they wait quietly for a few moments until a man appears, a twinkle in his eye and wearing a friendly smile framed by a gingery beard.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, brother,” the man greets.

“Benny,” Dean holds his hand out over the counter for an enthusiastic shake.

“Been a while since you came in,” Benny says, but his tone is kind. “I’d rather handle you than your handlers.”

Dean offers a laugh. “Actually- I’m working on a friend’s car. This is Cas. Cas, Benny.”

Castiel inclines his head politely, but Benny holds his hand out for a shake, which Castiel obliges a bit awkwardly. “Nice to meet you.”

Benny’s eyes are appraising as they sweep over him, and Castiel feels a little fidgety because of it. “Pleasure’s all mine.” His gaze returns to Dean. “What can I get for you today?”

“Let’s do a Walker quiet flow for an seventy-eight Lincoln,” Dean says.

“Sure thing,” Benny says, turning away from the counter to disappear into the tall racks in the back of the shop.

Dean leans on his elbow against the high counter and turns towards Castiel with a smile. “If you won’t get a new car, will you let me supe it up for you a bit?”

Castiel sends him an even look, “I’m pretty sure we’ve already established that I am not having a midlife crisis.”

Dean laughs. “Not like- man, not like that.” He grins. “We’ll just give her a little makeover. Make her shine. In their day, Lincolns were beautiful cars. I wouldn’t mind helping you bring yours to its former glory.”

Castiel contemplates Dean’s offer. If he accepts, he’ll spend more time with Dean. More torturous time with Dean. If he doesn’t, he’s unsure if there will really be any other pretense for him to see Dean and hang out with him. Selfish, really. But on the practical side, Dean fixing up his car would mean that Castiel could once again have a reliable vehicle without having to splurge on a new car, which he greatly appreciates. 

“Alright,” Castiel relents, hoping he sounds more reluctant than he actually feels. He doesn’t need Dean knowing that he’s practically salivating at the opportunity to see the man all greased up and under the hood of his car.

“Awesome.” 

Benny returns with a box in hand and sets it on the counter, clicking around on a few things on his computer. “Alright, with your discount it comes to seventy even.” 

Castiel pulls out his wallet without complaint, although he is curious as to what kind of discount Dean gets. Is it because he’s friends with Benny? Perhaps his store has some sort of loyalty program. Castiel hands over the cash and Benny makes change while Dean hefts the box off of the counter and totes it under an arm.

“Thanks Benny,” Dean says.

“You gonna be back before the next solstice?” Benny asks with a teasing voice.

Dean laughs a little. “Probably. We’re gonna give his car a face lift, I’m sure I’ll need plenty more than a muffler.”

Once again, Benny’s gaze turns towards Castiel, curious. But the man is more polite than he needs to be, merely nodding and sending them both a smile. “See you later, brother.”

Castiel and Dean exit the shop and get back into Dean’s car, the muffler box settled between them on the bench seat. “He seems nice.”

“Yeah,” Dean grins as he puts his car in reverse, throwing his arm over the seat so he can twist and watch himself backing out. Castiel definitely doesn’t watch the way his neck curves. “Known him a real long time. A good guy to have in your corner.” 

Castiel’s lips quirk idly. “Why am I not surprised to hear a boxing term from you in regards to friendship?”

Dean laughs. “I mean, we _have_ gotten into our fair share of scraps. Too old for that now, though.”

Castiel rubs his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Thank you again, for all of this. I’ve been so busy with work that I’ve been neglecting the very thing that gets me to and fro.”

“Whaddya do?” 

“I’m a senior accountant at Sandover,” Castiel replies.

“Shoulda known,” Dean chuckles. “You dress like it.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “In any case, I have been very stressed out with work and it’s been affecting areas of my life that I didn’t know could be affected.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Dean shrugs. “Not everyone gets their oil changed every three-thousand miles.”

Castiel frowns. “I do.”

Dean laughs. “Cas- ya gotta learn how to take a joke.”

“Oh,” Castiel feels his cheeks heat up. 

Dean chuckles. “You’re good.” 

The rest of the drive is in silence and when they pull up to Dean’s house, Castiel surprisingly doesn’t feel like he wants to crawl out of his own skin in embarrassment. Which is quite an accomplishment, because while he knows he’s not very good at taking a joke, he also doesn’t know how Dean hasn’t made endless fun of him. He’s thankful for it. They get out of the car and Castiel grabs the muffler box, surprised at the weight of it. He opens up the box and peers inside as Dean leads him towards the Lincoln, and Dean crouches so he can get back on the crawler, clapping his hands and holding them out. 

“Gimme.”

Castiel shuffles the box around a little bit so he can remove the styrofoam and get the muffler inside, discarding the box and its other contents so he can place the muffler in Dean’s hands. 

“Now, there’s a toolbox on top of the bench to the left side of the shop. Can you grab that for me and set it down on the floor?”

Finding the toolbox in question Castiel lifts it off of the counter with a heave, feeling himself buckle a little under the weight. He carefully walks back to where Dean is, bending at the knees so he can lower the toolbox onto the floor. He can’t see Dean’s face but Dean sends him a thumbs up before opening up the toolbox with practiced fingers, digging around inside without looking and, miraculously, hopefully, pulling out the tool he needs. Castiel watches, impressed, staying squatted where he is with his hands on his knees. 

“Will replacing the muffler be difficult?” Castiel asks curiously. 

“Nah,” Dean replies. “Just a bit of a tight space to work in, so it’s mostly just… annoying, I guess, rather than difficult.” 

“Ah.” Castiel hums. Silence stretches between them, the only noise being the tinkering of tools as Dean switches them out occasionally, Castiel shifting so he can sit on his rear on the concrete floor. He watches what he can see, which really means his gaze wanders up and down Dean’s waist and legs. Sue him. Dean looks good, his pants tight, the denim worn slightly at the knees, and Castiel notes that the man isn’t wearing a belt whenever his henley rides up and shows a sliver of smooth, golden skin. Such a pity, unrequited attraction. At least he can look his fill.

“Alright,” Dean scoots out from underneath the car after ten minutes, the old muffler clanking a little alongside him. He grins when he sees that Castiel’s sitting down, “All good to go. No more rattling.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, wondering if Dean will ever get tired of hearing the words. He stands up easily and then holds out a hand reflexively to help Dean up as well; he’s pleased when Dean grasps his hand with his calloused one, using the leverage to haul himself up. Castiel lets go quickly, not wanting to linger creepily, and Dean pats an affectionate hand on the trunk of the car. 

“Alright, wanna hear what other dirty things I wanna do to your girl?” 

The tips of Castiel’s ears burn a little, and he hopes Dean doesn’t see it as he glances towards his car. “Sure.” Thank God his voice comes out much calmer than how he feels internally.

“Ok, so,” Dean rounds the car to head towards the front where the hood is still propped. “Your engine is actually in pretty good condition. We can clean it up a little and if you’re cool with it, replace some of the parts with some shiny chrome. That’s really just for aesthetics. Also, there’s a few dings and scratches in the paint job; I can clean those up, or I can give her a shiny new coat in any color of your choice. Whoever owned her before you tried to tint the back window and it’s a bubbly mess,” Dean grabs the rag again so he can start cleaning his hands while he speaks, “so I can get that all cleaned up and give your windows a real tint if you want.”

Castiel’s brows rise further and further with all of Dean’s suggestions. “At this point, would it be cheaper for me to get a new car?”

Dean chuckles, “No, I get a sweet discount and like I said, I’m willing to work for food and beer.” 

“How long would it take to do all of that?” 

“Well, my job kinda takes up a lot of my life in reality, so I can really only work on Sundays for a couple hours at a time.”

Castiel has noticed that Dean skirts around the actual topic of his job quite a bit, so even though he’s burning inside to ask what it is Dean does, exactly, he politely refrains from doing so. Maybe Dean hates his job, like Castiel does. Castiel sure as hell doesn’t want to talk excessively about crunching numbers and doing his best on a daily basis to not turn into a homicidal maniac, so he respects Dean’s decision to not let anything slip about whatever he does professionally.

“Sundays work fine for me,” Castiel says. “And since you’re being so generous, I don’t mind if it takes a while for everything to be completed.”

Dean flashes him a smile as he closes the hood of the Lincoln. “Awesome.” He checks his watch, and then speeds up his hand wiping as he turns around to move towards his work bench. “I gotta get goin’, but you’re all good to go. Same time next Sunday?” 

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says with a little nod. He pulls his keys out of his pocket as Dean tosses the rag onto his counter and moves to start pumping the jack to lower Castiel’s car, Castiel choosing to avert his gaze and inspect the fact that his tires are starting to look a little bald. The other option is watching how Dean’s shirt stretches across his back. “Thank you.” He says, and internally winces. Honestly, how many times is he going to say that in one day?

Dean just flashes him a grin. “No problem, bud. Drive safe.”

Biting back the ‘thank you’ forming on his tongue Castiel moves past Dean to get into his car, turning it on. He pauses for a moment - and so does Dean - and when there’s no rattling Dean throws him two thumbs up, his bright smile giving the sun a run for its money. Castiel gives him a thumbs up in return, unable to remember the last time he made that gesture, the smile tugging on his lips feeling incredibly comfortable as he carefully backs out of the driveway. 

Things had been so easy, he’s surprised. Normally he’s got two left feet when it comes to navigating conversation, but Dean had picked up all the slack and hadn’t seemed to mind at all. It’s… refreshing, Castiel thinks, to be in the company of someone who doesn’t expect much in return other than company itself. Which is something Castiel is very ready to give, mind you. There are no false pretenses with Dean, and sure, they aren’t best friends by any means - hanging out for one day isn’t near enough to be given that title - but he feels… closer to the man, in any case. 

And if Castiel can get closer to him as a friend, he can accept that. 

Even if Dean’s mere presence is enough to make Castiel ache with need and remind him of the huge hole in his chest thanks to the fact he’s been single for the past seven years. 

He sighs softly, wringing his steering wheel. Even with that slightly melancholy thought in mind, he’s still looking forward to spending time with Dean over the course of however long it takes for the man to do work on his car. And maybe, hopefully, Castiel can get over his social awkwardness to see Dean outside of his garage. It’s a wistful thought, since Dean had admitted he’s normally very busy, but Castiel clings to it, anyway.

He needs some sunshine in his life.

\--

There’s some commotion in the break room when Castiel takes his lunch at eleven-fifteen. He uncaps his water bottle upon entry and lets his gaze rove curiously to the television mounted in the corner of the room, where some sort of event is playing on the screen. It’s got the attention of his female employees and Castiel arches a brow as he opens the fridge, pulling out his tupperware of pasta salad.

“He’s so dreamy,” one of the women says, a sigh on the edge of her voice. 

“And so talented! I can’t believe he’s from our city!” 

Curious, Castiel takes a seat at the next table over, taking a drink of water and then popping the lid off of his tupperware. His eyes are up on the screen as he listens to the women gush over whatever man has their attention, and his head tilts as he takes in what he’s seeing. A race of some sorts - oh. Motorcycles. The vehicles are racing around a track, sport bikes, and Castiel watches with mild interest as he starts eating. The announcer is talking about a ‘home grown talent’, and Castiel has to think if he ever knew that there was motorcycle racing circuit in the city. Probably not. He can barely keep up with national sports teams, no matter how advertised they are, let alone anything local.

His fork pauses halfway to his mouth as his eyes zero in on one of the bikes racing around the track. In the lead is a matte black beast, rear end high, wheels thick, rider gracefully folded along the curves of it, a black and red riding suit hugging his muscled frame. There’s something familiar about that bike and the rider draped over it; the screen changes and zooms out, a small box appearing in the top left hand corner.

It’s a photo of Dean. 

Castiel tunes in to the announcers, some pasta falling off of his fork.

“...And Winchester has been taking the circuit by _storm_ after coming back from hiatus. Time off seems to have rejuvenated our favorite rider and he shows no mercy on the track, today his inaugural run after being out of the circuit for seven years.” 

“He’s so hot! I wonder what grocery store he shops at?”

“I wouldn’t mind running into him in the produce aisle.”

“Janet!!”

“One lap to go… Winchester focused as ever, a man on a mission. The rest of the riders are in the _dust_ as he takes the last turn, and-- Yes! Winchester wins the prix!”

On the screen the motorcycle - a different one than what Castiel has seen - slows to a halt and the rider puts his feet down to prop himself up, reaching up to undo the clasps of his helmet. When he pulls it off of his head Castiel’s heart leaps up into his throat; Dean Winchester is smiling huge, face flushed, hair sweaty, an arm raised as he waves towards the crowd while a pretty woman approaches him to present him with a trophy. He takes it from her with a smile and people start filling the track, paparazzi and what Castiel can assume is Dean’s ‘crew’. The camera then switches to other riders pulling up to a stop as well and Castiel lowers his hand to the table so his pasta can fall back into his tupperware safely, his jaw slack.

Dean Winchester is a motorcycle racer.

Castiel’s arousal for the man ramps up impossibly further and he slouches in his seat a little, covering his face with his hand. 

What has he gotten himself into?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check the tags; more have been added

Castiel isn’t quite sure what to do with the information that Dean is a professional motorcycle racer. On the one hand, it doesn’t really change much; Dean is still going to work on his car, he’s still stupidly attractive, and charming, and nice, and friendly… But on the other hand, Dean had deliberately _not_ told Castiel what he did for a living, and Castiel has to find a way to respect that without compromising any boundaries. It was probably only a matter of time before he found out, anyway, but he’s dying to know why Dean didn’t bring it up at all. Clearly, from what Castiel had seen on the television, Dean is some sort of racing god, and very highly regarded in the sport. So it’s not like he’s hiding it maliciously, right?

A quick Google search brings up a _Wikipedia page_ , for goodness sake, and Castiel stares at the hyperlink for a full three minutes before finally deciding to click on it. There’s a very attractive photo of Dean at some sort of red carpet event, and Castiel starts reading his bio carefully, feeling a lot like a kid who’s trying to not get caught looking at porn. It’s pretty standard wiki stuff; birth date, birth location, family, where he went to school. Castiel eyes the **Age: 35** with a little too much interest (he’d known Dean was younger than him, but eight years feels like much more of a stretch than he initially imagined), and then continues scrolling. In his reading he learns that Dean had stopped racing when his daughter was born, a quote from him saying _“Racing is dangerous. I don’t want my little girl to grow up without a father. I’m gonna take a break for a little bit and get my priorities straight.”_ and ah, ok. That’s really… admirable. 

Castiel puts his tablet down on the table and takes his glasses off of his nose, folding them up and setting them down. He hadn’t finished reading the page but he doesn’t really want to; he sort of feels wrong for looking it up in the first place. Everything he just read, he could easily _ask_ Dean about, in a normal conversation. What kind of friend is he? Snooping like that.

His phone vibrates with a text message, causing him to jump. Who on earth would be texting him? He glances down at his phone screen and feels his heart thud a little faster at the preview at the top of the screen, pulling his phone closer. Definitely a ‘speak of the Devil’ moment. 

Definitely caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

 **Dean:** hey u busy? me and some buddies are…

His fingers tremble slightly as he picks up his phone and swipes into the message. 

**Dean:** hey u busy? me and some buddies are gonna go to the roadhouse for dinner and drinks. take off ur ugly suit and come hang

Castiel glances down at himself. It’s five-thirty in the afternoon and he’s been home from work for about an hour, and yes, actually, he’s still in his suit, thank you very much. His stomach rumbling reminds him that he is, indeed, hungry. Chewing his lip, he’s very flattered that Dean has extended the invite to him, but he’s also unsure if he should accept. Is it too soon to see him again? It’s been four days since he’d seen Dean last, and Castiel is due at his house once more on Sunday. While Castiel had convinced himself that he’s very into getting to know Dean as a friend and seeing him outside of his car makeover, he suddenly finds himself nervous about it. And- and. _Friends_. Dean is out with his friends and he’s inviting Castiel out so maybe Dean is already under the impression that they’re friends? 

Not the worst thing in the world. 

Castiel is just terrible at the whole ‘making friends’ thing and seriously has no idea how to do it.

His phone vibrates again.

 **Dean:** don’t leave me on read asshole

Castiel can’t help the little chuckle that escapes him. With slightly less nervous fingers, he types out his reply.

 **Castiel:** My apologies. I was checking my house for hidden cameras, because there shouldn’t be any way that you know I am still wearing my suit.

Dean’s reply is quick.

 **Dean:** u seem like the kind of guy who has more suits than jeans

 **Castiel:** I have *lots* of jeans.

 **Dean:** whatever suits. U comin or not

Castiel drags a hand down his cheek idly. He should go. He doesn’t want Dean to think he’s _that_ socially inept.

 **Castiel:** I will be there in an hour.

 **Dean:** awesome :p

He’s glad he’d given himself an hour of prep time, because he must have tried on at least four different outfits. All varying jeans and tshirt combos, none of which are pleasing. Groaning and tipping his head back he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter what he wears, because he’s not trying to impress or woo Dean or get him to notice him in any sort of manner other than _friendly_ , but it’s hard because deep, deep down, Castiel _does_ want to impress and woo Dean and get him to know him in an entirely _more_ than friendly manner. 

He knows better, though.

He settles on a pair of nice jeans and a plain black long sleeved tee, and takes a moment to try and tame his hair. The gel he’d combed through it this morning is pretty much gone by now, ruined by a full day’s worth of pulling and tugging at his own hair (mostly in frustration), and he thinks that maybe he can pull off the messy look. Also, he can’t be bothered to try and tame his hair without taking a shower, and that would definitely eat up too much time. 

He gets to the roadhouse with five minutes to spare, and takes thirty seconds in his car to try and calm his social anxiety. Knowing Dean is one thing, but he’ll be there with people Castiel doesn’t know, and there will be no buffer. He can’t expect Dean to pay attention to him exclusively, so he takes a few minutes to try and think about conversation topics that don’t revolve around “I hate my job” and “Do any of Dean’s other friends have giant crushes on him?”. 

Nothing comes up, so he decides that winging it is his only option.

The roadhouse is fairly busy for a weeknight, and when Castiel enters, his attention is drawn immediately towards a large table near the middle of the restaurant where the occupants are having loud, rowdy conversation. He spots Dean among the people sitting there and oh, of course all of Dean’s friends would be just as extroverted as him. Nice. Castiel approaches the table and Benny catches sight of him first, smiling wide, cheeks flushed with alcohol and laughter as he holds out his hand.

“Cas! Glad you could make it,” he greets.

Castiel takes his hand warmly and tries to recall the last time he’s ever touched, or been touched, so casually and so frequently. 

“Cas!” Dean crows. He stands up from his chair and rounds the table to pull Castiel in for a one-armed hug, the accountant’s heart hammering against his chest as he feels the warmth of Dean’s body and gets a good whiff of his aftershave. He’s so _firm_ and huge and encompassing and everything Castiel is not. Dean is dressed in worn jeans and a Zeppelin tee, face clean shaven, and crap, coming here may have been a terrible idea. “Welcome! Lemme introduce you to the crew.”

Castiel tries to shrink a little, but it’s hard with Dean’s arm over his shoulders, his hand on his bicep with his fingers pinching the material of Castiel’s shirt. “Hello.” he says in the general direction of the table.

“You know Benny,” Dean moves his free hand to point around the table as he talks, “but here we’ve got Chuck, Donna, Jody - she’s Claire’s friend Alex’s mom - Charlie, and my brother Sam.”

Nodding, Castiel does his best to commit names to faces, and when Dean seems satisfied, he pulls Castiel out of the spotlight and towards where he’d been sitting.

“Saved ya a seat.” Dean says, sitting down and pulling out the chair next to him in invitation.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, grateful. He’s unsure about sitting next to a stranger and forcing himself into small talk. Sitting at the end of the table next to Dean is the perfect spot where he can try and be as inconspicuous as possible.

Dean leans into him a little, “They’re a rowdy bunch, but they’re my family. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Hoping Dean can’t see the blush on his cheeks, Castiel offers a small shrug and the tiniest of smiles. “Thank you for inviting me.” Saying that these people are his family is pretty… loaded, and makes Castiel’s mind go in all sorts of different directions - but at the root of it all, he’s glad that Dean regards him in pretty much the same manner of friendship as these people. Meaning, Castiel could easily consider Dean a very close friend (especially if they continue on the path they’re on), and he’s definitely happy that Dean seems to be on the same page. 

A pretty blonde waitress approaches the table, notepad and pen in hand. She stands at the end of the table next to Castiel but her attention is on the crowd, her lips pursing so she can let out a sharp whistle.

“Everyone shut up and then tell me your orders - _one by one_ , don’t try to talk over each other, you animals.” She says. Her name tag reads ‘Jo’. 

Castiel smiles a little wryly; he likes her. Per her request (command) the table falls silent and everyone orders individually, while Castiel takes the time to look over the menu. He’s _really_ hungry. He hears Dean ordering next to him but doesn’t really pay attention to what he’s saying, and when it’s his turn he orders a double cheeseburger with bacon and french fries. 

“Atta boy,” Dean claps him on the shoulder and grins. 

“Who’s the newbie?” Jo asks, glancing down at Castiel.

“This is Cas,” Dean introduces. “Cas, Jo. I’m doing some work on his car.” 

“At the house?” Jo asks, her attention moving to Dean. 

There seems to be a silent exchange going on between the pair, and after a tense moment, Dean replies with, “Yes, at the house.”

“Hm.” Jo’s entire demeanor closes off and she snaps her notepad shut. “I’ll have your appetizers right out.” 

It’s Jody who speaks first when Jo leaves, leaning across the table to address Dean. “She’ll be fine.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, letting out a blustery sigh. “I know why she’s concerned, I’m not gonna try n’ start an argument with her.” 

Jody sends him a sympathetic look. Castiel is incredibly confused by the whole ordeal. He surreptitiously glances over Donna’s shoulder towards the bar where Jo is wiping down the counter; blonde hair, curled lips, bright eyes, strong personality.

Something is really familiar about her, but he can’t place his finger on it. 

“Hey-” Across from him Charlie leans forward, a huge smile on her features. “Dean owes me five bucks. Make him pay up.”

Castiel lofts a brow, properly distracted. “Oh?” 

“He said you’d come in a suit,” Charlie explains. “I said if you cared about first impressions, you wouldn’t.”

Castiel can’t help but let out a little chuckle. “I’m unsure as to why he’s so focused on whether or not I’m wearing a suit. Statistically I’ve only worn a suit fifty percent of the times we’ve seen each other.”

Charlie’s eyes glimmer brightly in amusement. “I like you.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean butts in to their conversation, pointing his finger at Charlie. “Don’t scare him off.”

“I was just telling him you owe me five bucks,” Charlie chirps.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy your next beer.”

“Even better!” Charlie claps her hands. 

“So,” Dean turns towards Castiel, picking up his own beer as he talks. “We normally come here once a week, kind of a tradition.”

Nodding, Castiel once again feels honored that Dean had extended the invite out to him.

“Tonight, though, we’re celebrating!” Charlie says loudly, and the rest of the table responds in kind by cheering and holding up their drinks.

Castiel blinks, a little confused. “Celebrating?”

“The king’s gracious return to the world of racing,” Charlie explains, beaming.

 _Right_. Dean’s motorcycle racing that he very pointedly mentioned nothing about.

Dean gets a little sheepish, chuckling and waving his beer around a bit. “I’m just glad I didn’t jinx it.”

“He wouldn’t say the word ‘motorcycle’ for the two months leading up to his race,” Jody says.

“Oh,” Castiel nods, suddenly understanding, “that’s why you didn’t tell me what it is you do for a living.”

“He’s very superstitious,” Donna says with a wink.

Dean rolls his eyes a little. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“ _Talent_ worked,” Benny says from the other end of the table. “Quit sellin’ yourself short, brother.”

“Sorry if you felt like I was keepin’ somethin’ from you,” Dean says to Castiel. His expression is honest and open, his hand falling on the back of Castiel’s chair casually. Castiel feels the heat from it seeping through his back, even at a distance. “But I really didn’t wanna jinx it. I usually don’t even ride in the weeks leading up to the race but Claire insisted on me still takin’ her out before school.”

Castiel offers a small smile. He’s immensely grateful for the circumstances revolving around why Dean didn’t talk about it. It’s kinda cute, anyway, Dean being superstitious. “I don’t blame her. She looks like she’ll be the next racing star.”

Dean laughs, “That one I’m on the fence about.” 

A different server brings their food, and no one comments on it. Conversation flows a bit easier; Charlie keeps prodding Castiel about his personal life, to which he keeps giving pretty monosyllabic answers in reply, but she doesn’t seem deterred at all. Kind of like when Balthazar talks with him, although Castiel doesn’t feel like wringing Charlie’s neck. In fact, he likes her. A lot. All of Dean’s friends are really good people, he learns, and it makes sense that a man as kind and selfless as Dean surrounds himself with likeminded people. And, knowing that Dean wasn’t deliberately keeping his profession a secret from him… well, that makes Castiel relax. A lot. 

When they’re done eating Dean’s hand returns to the back of Castiel’s chair, and it’s such a simple thing, but it makes Castiel lose a bit of his focus on the story Donna’s telling about her and Jody’s last hunting trip. 

Jo approaches the table once more, looking like she’s in much better spirits, and she stops behind Dean’s chair, massaging his shoulders a little, Castiel’s eyes inadvertently drawn to the casual, familiar touch.. “Hey, did you do laundry?” 

Dean tips his head back so he can look up at her. And Dean, beautiful Dean, looks much more chipper when he sees that Jo is feeling better. “I did. I even washed her tutu by hand.” 

Jo grins. “Good. But maybe you shouldn’t let her play in the mud while she’s wearing it.”

Dean bristles slightly, “ _You_ tell her to take it off before she goes mudding. She won’t listen to me.” 

Jo and Dean continue to bicker about the mundane task of laundry and suddenly, realization drops like a stone in Castiel’s gut.

Blonde hair. Feisty personality. The familiar touches and conversation.

Jo is Claire’s mother.

Jo is… Jo is Dean’s - he glances at her hand, seeing it blank of jewelry - girlfriend. Castiel had known that this day would come, the day he’d meet Dean’s significant other and the mother of his child, but he hadn’t been prepared for it to happen so soon. Especially not after an evening of easy conversation, Dean’s hand wandering into Castiel’s space every so often, his smiles soft and his eyes warm. 

He can’t go through with this, he realizes. He can’t be around Dean’s friends, his _family_ \- his beautiful family - with the inappropriate thoughts that plague his mind. He’d been lulled into complacency by Dean’s wonderful friends and good food and now he just feels like a complete _idiot_ for allowing himself to think that this is something he could have regularly.

“Ow- ow!” 

Castiel snaps back to reality to see Jo now digging her fingers painfully into the meat of Dean’s shoulders.

“That’s what you get for being an asshole!” she declares, huffy.

Dean has the audacity to laugh at whatever he’s being punished for, and he squirms to get her hands to fall off of him. “I deserve far worse, but thank you.”

“You’re damn right you do.” Jo puts her hands on her hips, and then glances towards Castiel. The mild irritation she had regarded him with earlier is completely gone, replaced with exasperation - exasperation towards Dean. “You look like a gentleman. Could you please tell Mr. Winchester to not make period jokes?” 

Castiel tilts his head a little, unsure how to reply, his head still swimming, so he answers with: “Dean. Don’t make period jokes.”

The entire table goes uproarious with laughter and Jo seems satisfied was she pulls away, adjusting her apron. 

“Thank you~” she wanders off to go help another table on the other side of the bar.

Castiel feels a little nauseous. He hasn’t even had any alcohol. He shifts in his seat a little, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “I should get going.”

That grabs Dean’s attention from ribbing his brother about something or other. Dean turns to look at him, eyebrow raised in surprise. “Huh?” 

Castiel sets cash down on the table, enough to cover his food plus tip, and resolutely avoids meeting Dean’s gaze. “It’s getting late- I should be getting home.” He dares to glance up at Dean and immediately regrets it.

Dean looks like a kicked puppy. From beside him, so does his brother. Oh, no. He’d barely even said a word to Sam, yet the man looks just as disappointed as his brother that Castiel is leaving.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Castiel hurries to say, “I had a really fun time, but my alarm goes off at five every morning and I’d rather not hate myself when I still don’t have a coffee maker.” 

That manages to get a small smile out of Dean, and it seems like he accepts that as an excuse for Castiel to leave. Castiel doesn’t feel good about ditching him, but he can’t stomach being here for much longer. He doesn’t belong here. Dean doesn’t need a friend with a big gay crush on him when he’s successful and clearly has an amazing life with his friends and family. Castiel, with all his social anxiety and inability to understand most pop culture references, and his weird awkward crush on a man who’s likely straight and a father to boot, _doesn’t belong here_. 

Standing up, he nods his head to the few people that glance up at his departure, and then hightails it out of the bar. Outside he takes a deep breath of cool evening air and then runs a hand through his hair, tugging idly at the locks before making his way to his car. His car that is not clunking, thanks to Dean fixing it up. Once he’s behind the wheel he rests his forehead against it, trying to quell the anxiety threatening to spill over. And his heart… oh, his heart. He feels so stupid. How could he have tricked himself into thinking that being friends - _just_ friends - with Dean Winchester would be easy? Or a good idea?

The problem is: it _is_ easy to be friends with Dean. He’s good-natured and charming and witty and incredibly humble even though he has a blasted _Wikipedia page_. He surrounds himself with equally good people, he’s an amazing dad, and he’s just… well, a superstar, compared to Castiel. Castiel who works a boring job that he hates with every fiber of his being and drives a crappy car because he can’t be bothered to go through the arduous process of buying a new one. Castiel, who hates his boss and barely tolerates his coworkers and considers it a riveting weekend when he watches more than three episodes of his favorite crime drama. 

Castiel clenches his jaw and turns the key in the ignition, backing out of the parking spot. 

He did his best.

He just shouldn’t have gotten so hopeful.

\--

The next morning Castiel is at the gas station. He had debated not going, because of course it’s the day that Dean and Claire usually ride up, but he refuses to let his car go under half a tank. He had a bad experience once where he ran out of gas on the freeway and it was vaguely traumatizing, so now he fills up his tank like clockwork. He’s leaning against the side of the car, trench coat wrapped tightly around himself, zoning out as he watches the dollar amount on the digital display climb higher and higher. He really should get a new car. Twenty-two miles per gallon is all well and good, but the tank itself is eight gallons, and he eats through it quickly with his twenty minute commute to work. 

The scent of coffee suddenly infiltrates his senses and he blinks in surprise, glancing to his left. Dean is standing by the hood of his car holding two cups of coffee and wearing a friendly smile, Claire occupied by a game on the phone clutched in her tiny hands. 

“Mornin’.” 

Castiel swallows down the emotions that threaten to explode out of his mouth. “Hello, Dean. Claire.”

Claire doesn’t glance up as she replies, “Hi Cas~”

Castiel glances at the coffee in Dean’s hands. “Is that for me?” 

Dean’s smile widens a bit. “You really need to get a coffee maker, buddy. You look like shit.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes a little, taking the coffee cup when Dean offers it to him. Easy. So dreadfully easy. “How thoughtful of you.”

Dean leans against the car with him and takes a sip of his drink, his free hand tucked into the tight pocket of his tight pants. “Thanks again for coming last night. Sorry you had to leave so quick.”

Castiel averts his gaze, taking a deep drink of his coffee and savoring the bitter flavor on his tongue. “My apologies for hurrying. It seems that even though I went to bed early, I still had a hard time waking up this morning.”

Dean’s shoulder bumps against Castiel’s and it’s such a casual, friendly thing, Castiel has a hard time not reading into it. “What kind of coffee maker d’you like?”

“Percolator,” Castiel replies. “I prefer my coffee black, and I feel like percolators make the strongest cup.” 

“S’what I use,” Dean says. “Gas station coffee still does the job.”

Castiel arches a brow. “You didn't forgo your morning cup at home, did you?”

Dean shrugs. “I can't do more than one cup, anyway, so I thought I’d wait. No big deal.”

Castiel stares down at the black lid covering his to-go cup. Dean just casually admitted that he had been thinking of Castiel upon waking and Castiel is doing his best to not examine it under a microscope, but it's hard. It's really fucking hard to be Dean Winchester’s platonic friend when Dean Winchester chooses to drink a cup of crappy gas station coffee with a guy that bailed on him and his friends last night. And even though Dean had been all smiles, Castiel knows that _Dean_ knows “waking up early" was a flimsy excuse. And yet here Dean is, either uncaring of Castiel’s social anxiety, or… a sadist.

Glancing at Dean and catching him staring, Castiel grumbles a little.

Definitely a sadist.

“You still coming by on Sunday?”

There it is. An out. Dean is subtly giving Castiel permission to never see him again and Castiel feels his resolve crumble a little. He's so hung up on the guy and they barely know each other. If Castiel were in his right mind, he’d say no. He’d tell Dean that maybe he _will_ just go and buy a new car - do you see the dollar amount up on the gas pump right now? - so no, thank you, but I should turn into a responsible adult even though I’m forty-three and pay a monthly mortgage. 

Instead, Castiel is _not_ in his right mind, and replies, “Of course, Dean.”

And the way those words light up Dean’s face are well worth it, Castiel thinks. Because he’s got a big gay crush on a straight man with a daughter and a pretty girlfriend and Dean’s a sadist, but Castiel’s a masochist apparently, so they’re a match made in heaven. 

“Awesome,” Dean says. “See ya then.”

“Bye, Cas~” Claire says as they depart, still not looking up from the phone.

Castiel still thinks she’s adorable. 

He watches Dean and Claire suit up and get on the motorcycle, Dean sending Castiel a two-fingered salute before he revs the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. Castiel slumps against his car, staring morosely at the nozzle propped into his gas tank.

A match made in heaven, but Castiel is starting to think this is hell.

\--

Castiel drives to Dean’s house in a daze on Sunday. No coffee, no sanity, no self-control. He’s a mess. He hasn’t texted Dean since the morning he saw him last and part of him feels guilty, but then again, Dean hasn’t texted him either, so he supposes they’re on an even playing field. It reminds Castiel that this is a developing _friendship_ , that this is all strictly platonic, and it brings him back down to earth. The landing is a little rough, but he’s thankful for the proverbial cold shower to get him to come to his senses.

He pulls into Dean’s driveway all the way up to where his shop is open, trying to make sure he parks it almost exactly where it had been parked last time. When he gets out of his car Dean is coming out of the back of the house, a wrapped box in his hands as he crosses the lawn. Castiel blinks as Dean sends him the sunniest smile he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing, and when he’s close enough, Dean holds the box out towards him.

“Good morning!”

Castiel cautiously takes the box, eyeing the nondescript blue and green striped wrapping paper. “What’s this?” 

“Open it,” Dean encourages, rubbings his palms together excitedly. He looks like a kid on Christmas- that is, if the kids got excited when other people got gifts.

Frowning slightly, Castiel takes the box towards the trunk of his car so he can set it down. Very carefully he slides his fingers under the tape, and as he works, he glances up at Dean and can’t help but send a wry smile. “No card?”

“Nah.” Scratch his previous thoughts; Dean’s smile is _brighter_ than the sun. “Sometimes you give a gift just ‘cause.”

When Castiel finishes unwrapping the gift and gets a good look at the box, his eyes widen in surprise. “You got me a new percolator?” The latest model, too- one that Castiel had been eyeing, but refused to pay the price for. “Dean-” Gratitude wells up inside Castiel. How can one man be so _selfless_? Helping Castiel with his car, inviting him out to family night, getting him coffee the next morning, continuing to work on his car, and _buying him a new percolator_. “You shouldn’t have.”

“You’ve been complaining about not having coffee since we met,” Dean says with an easy chuckle. “Just tryna get you to shut up.”

Castiel snorts a little, returning his gaze to the box, his heart filled with wonder and affection and _Christ_ Dean really does make it impossible to not like him. “Thank you,” Castiel says softly.

Dean grabs the discarded wrapping paper off of the trunk and tosses it into the large garbage can by his work bench. “You’re welcome. How was the rest of your week?” 

“Dreadful,” Castiel replies easily. He puts the box in the back seat, and when he straightens Dean is popping the hood of his car. “But I’m alive and I’m here.”

“That’s a win in my books,” Dean says with a grin. “Today we’re gonna clean up your exhaust manifold. It’s lookin’ a little rough.”

Castiel joins Dean at the hood of the car, peering at the engine. After a second of looking at the different parts, he points his finger to where he’s pretty sure the exhaust manifold is. “This?”

Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Good memory! Yeah, we’re gonna clean that sucker up and get it nice and shiny.” He moves towards his workbench. “Gotta take it apart a bit, but it’s super easy.” He comes back with a socket wrench, handing it to Castiel with a grin. “You’re gonna do all the work. I’ll supervise.”

Castiel stares at the socket wrench, before glancing at the exhaust manifold. Sink or swim, he supposes.

Over the next hour they work tediously and closely. Dean tells him what to remove, helps him with what tools he needs to use, and points out a few other components to explain how the system works in relation to the rest of the engine. Castiel absorbs everything and does his best to focus even though he’s got Dean in his space, smelling like leather and motor oil. Dean demonstrates how to apply the lacquer thinner and the man doesn’t have delicate hands, but they look amazing as he uses the tools with an ease born from experience. Castiel does most of the scrubbing and Dean only intervenes to point out where he really needs to use some elbow grease, and when it comes time to use the grinder, Castiel’s pretty much got everything down pat. Dean pulls away so Castiel can work on his own, and Castiel gets swept away in the mindless task of scrubbing away debris and making the metal shine. When he’s done he straightens, skin sticky with sweat, and Dean is returning from wherever he went, a grin on his face.

“All done?” 

Castiel nods, lifting his arm to wipe his sweaty forehead with skin that hopefully isn’t covered with grime. Dean peers over Castiel’s shoulder to examine his work, and then smiles wide. “Looks good, buddy.”

They spend the next few minutes reassembling what they’d taken apart in order to clean, Dean mostly making sure that Castiel is putting things back together correctly. When he’s done Dean hands him a clean rag and Castiel takes it gratefully, immediately starting to clean his fingers and hands. 

“DADDY!”

Both men look up to see Claire running towards the garage, her hands cupped together and held out in front of her body. 

“Daddy!” She skids to a halt next to Castiel’s car, beaming up at the accountant as well. “Hi Cas!”

“Hello, Claire,” Castiel greets, unable to stop the small smile from spreading on his lips.

“Whaddya got?” Dean asks, crouching into a squat so he can be on Claire’s level.

“A grasshopper!” Claire says excitedly. She then frowns down at her hands. “If I open my hand so you can see he’ll jump away.” 

“Let’s go get a jar to put him in,” Dean suggests, standing up. He smiles at Cas and gestures for him to follow.

Glancing around the garage, Castiel isn’t sure if following is a good idea, but Claire is cute and Dean is amazing and alright. _Ok_. He follows after them as they head up to the back porch of the house, Castiel once again a bit stupefied by how _nice_ the house is. The back door leads to a mudroom, motorcycle gear clogging up the whole space. Neither Dean nor Claire take off their shoes as they make their way into the kitchen so Castiel follows, still idly wiping his hands and forearms with the rag. Dean starts opening up cupboards, hunting around, and Castiel lets his gaze slide around the kitchen. Open concept, marble countertops, wood floor, gas stove, huge exhaust fan, an island big enough to seat eight, a smart fridge. Swallowing thickly, Castiel is curious about the rest of the house, but also feels his tax bracket quaking at the thought, so he stands next to the counter and watches as Dean pulls down a mason jar from a cupboard.

“We’ll put him in here,” Dean says, unscrewing the lid. “Poke a few holes in the lid, put some twigs and leaves in it. But we’re only gonna keep him in there for a little bit so you can watch him, ok? Then we have to put him back in the yard.”

Claire pouts. “But why?”

“Because he doesn’t belong in a glass jar, baby girl,” Dean says. He holds the jar out towards Claire so she can carefully tip the grasshopper into it. “How would you feel if someone took you from your home and put you in a tiny container?” 

Claire’s pout intensifies. “I wouldn’t like it.” 

“Exactly.” Dean screws on the lid and then opens up a drawer to get a knife, setting the jar on the counter so he can carefully start poking holes into the aluminum. “So: we’re gonna name him, watch him, and you can draw a picture of him so you have something to remember him by.”

Claire lights up. “I can bring the picture to show and tell!”

“Great idea,” Dean says with a smile. “Let’s go back outside so we can make the jar a little more comfy for him.” 

Claire takes the jar and Castiel gets knocked out of left field when she then turns to him and grabs his hand. 

“Cas, come pick flowers with me!” she says, tugging on his hand and leading him towards the back door.

Castiel sends Dean a helpless look, to which the man just shrugs and grins. Castiel allows Claire to drag him into the backyard, where she makes a beeline for the flower beds. Another glance over his shoulder shows Dean taking a seat on one of the chairs on the back porch, crossing his ankle over his knee and observing. Any insecurities Castiel feels get swept away when Claire plucks a purple petunia and holds it out towards Castiel, her smile broad, two teeth missing from the bottom row. Feeling his heart soften, he takes the petunia from her and moves to sit down on the grass, legs criss cross. As Claire hands him twigs, flowers, and blades of grass he carefully opens the jar to place things inside, making sure the grasshopper doesn’t leap out. By the time they’re done there’s so many things inside the jar that the grasshopper is difficult to see; Castiel holds up the jar and turns it this way and that, helping Claire find the grasshopper. 

“He’s so cute,” Claire declares.

“What will you name him?” Castiel asks.

“Hopper!” she says. 

Castiel chuckles. “Hopper the grasshopper. I like it.” 

Claire takes the jar from Castiel and then stands up. “Will you help me color?” 

“I’m not a very good artist,” Castiel says as he stands up. He pats his butt idly to disperse any dirt or grass stuck to his pants. 

“I bet you’re better than daddy,” she says brightly.

“My ears are burning-” Dean calls from the porch. “You talkin’ crap, kiddo?” 

She sticks her tongue out at him, “Cas is gonna help me draw Hopper!”

“Alright, alright. I’ll go get your coloring stuff.” Dean laughs, as he gets up to head inside the house. 

Claire leads Castiel to the porch where there’s a small table and some chairs. She puts the jar on the table and sits down, Castiel taking the seat next to her. Her eyes are glued on the jar and Castiel, despite all of the turmoil he’s been in for the past week, feels relaxed. Dean comes back out with a few sheets of paper and a box of crayons, setting them down on the table. Along with those items comes a hot cup of coffee, which he sets in front of Castiel, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Thanks!” Claire chirps, bringing a piece of paper in front of her and picking up a green crayon. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says as he brings the coffee towards him for a sip.

“Surprised you made it this long without caffeine,” Dean says as he takes a seat opposite of them. 

“I’ve mastered the art of sleep walking, I’ve actually been unconscious this whole time. Only now am I joining the world of the waking.” Castiel says dryly as he takes another sip.

Dean snorts. “Y’know, I could actually believe that.” 

Castiel relaxes a little in his seat, his eyes watching as Claire first draws the jar, the size of it almost taking up the whole sheet of paper. The silence is easy, and Castiel helps Claire pick the right color of purple for the petunias when Dean speaks up.

“Y’know, you never really talk about yourself.”

That surprises Castiel. He glances up towards Dean, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”

“Like-” Dean scrubs a hand over his mouth. “Charlie said whenever she asked you somethin’, you’d change the subject and talk about something else.”

Castiel shrugs a little, “No one wants to hear about my boring life.”

Dean frowns. Castiel hates that expression on his features. “Why do you say that?”

Castiel drums his fingers on the table idly. “Because it’s true. My life isn’t very interesting. I work a boring job, I live in an average apartment, I drive a car that no longer has to pass emissions.” Dean snorts a little at that. “It’s all very dull compared to your exciting life.”

“I dunno,” Dean says. “I wish you didn’t think like that. You’re plenty interesting, Cas.”

Castiel sends Dean a measuring look. Dean exudes nothing but honesty and easy confidence, and wears his heart on his sleeve. If he says Castiel is interesting then he truly believes that, and it sort of… throws Castiel off guard. Dropping his gaze, Castiel wraps the fingers of both hands around his coffee mug. “Thank you, Dean.” 

He can feel the warmth in Dean’s words, “You’re welcome, Cas.” 

“Done!” Claire suddenly shouts. She shoves the paper over towards Castiel, “What do you think?” 

Castiel looks down at the drawing; the jar is filled with flowers and leaves and colored very prettily, and the grasshopper is a tiny little thing resting on a twig. To the side she wrote “HOPPER” in bubble letters with a little arrow pointing directly at him. “It’s very good, Claire.” Castiel says, before looking at her with a smile. “Do you know what would make it better?”

Claire’s eyes are big and wide and curious as she looks up at Castiel and shakes her head. “No- what?”

Castiel’s smile turns devilish. “Glitter.”

Claire gasps and then stands up so quickly, her chair almost falls over. “GLITTER!!!” She darts into the house without another word, and Castiel chews his lip before looking innocently over at Dean, who has a full on glower covering his expression.

“Really?” the man asks, looking all sorts of offended.

Castiel shrugs, leaning back in his seat and picking up his coffee mug for a sip. “Glitter makes everything better.”

Dean rolls his eyes and puts his forehead in his hands. “I hate you.”

Claire returns with a few containers and a bottle of Elmer’s glue, setting everything down on the table a little clumsily. “Cas! Help me glitterfy the picture!”

Dutifully, Castiel applies the glue where Claire directs him, his lines neat and precise. When he’s done with that he helps Claire hold the containers of glitter to shake out the sparkles, his hands around hers to make sure that she doesn’t dump the entire container out on the paper. Glitter is awesome, but it is also messy, and for Dean’s sake he’s doing his best to not let it get disastrous. Alternating between glitters and making sure to dump the excess back into the proper container without mixing up any of the colors, it takes about ten minutes for them to complete ‘glitterfying’ the picture. 

“Alright,” Castiel says, screwing the lid on the last glitter container. “Don’t touch the picture for a while, you need to let all the glue dry.”

Claire nods, but it looks like she wants to touch the picture _so bad_ , and Castiel can’t help but chuckle. He doesn’t have much experience with kids; even when he was one, he didn’t have much experience with them. But Claire is bright and fun and smart and friendly, so it’s easy to get sucked into playing with her.

Sort of like how it’s easy to get sucked into being Dean’s friend. 

“Whaddya think, daddy?” Claire asks, making a grand gesture towards the picture since she can’t hold it up and show it off.

Dean leans over the table, tilting his head thoughtfully. “The composition is nice. Colors bold. Lines clean. The abstract of the glitter clouds complement the straight lines of the jar perfectly.”

Castiel covers his mouth with his hand to cover up his snort. Claire just rolls her eyes.

“Just tell me it’s pretty, dad,” she grouses, in a very Dean-like manner.

“It’s very pretty, Claire. Now that we have the picture drawn, we need to let Hopper back out into the yard.”

“Ok!” Claire grabs the jar off the table and gets out of her chair so she can skip down the steps. 

Castiel feels vaguely sorry for the poor grasshopper that’s getting jostled around in its pretty prison. Out in the yard Claire kneels next to the garden and unscrews the lid, setting the jar down and then bending down with her elbows in the grass, chin propped on her fists as she waits for the grasshopper to figure out it can make an escape.

“You got any kids?” Dean suddenly asks.

Castiel, surprised by the question, gives Dean a blank stare. “What?”

“You’re really good with her,” Dean gestures idly towards the lawn. 

Shaking his head, Castiel leans back in his chair. “No- I don’t have any kids.”

Nodding, Dean smiles. “You’d be a good father.” 

Heat unfurls in Castiel’s gut and makes the tips of his ears burn. “I’m… unsure about children. I like them, but I don’t quite know what to do with them.”

Dean shrugs, lacing his fingers behind his neck and spreading his elbows wide. “Bein’ a parent isn’t so difficult once you realize you’re riding passenger.”

Castiel snorts. “That doesn’t sound very safe.”

Dean hums. “I think it’s really important to let the kids be in charge of what they want. Of course, ya gotta set boundaries and rules and explain to them why those things exist. But kids are awesome, man. They’re creative, they’re smart, and they don’t believe in limits. Teach ‘em respect, and be supportive of the things they want, and everything else comes naturally.” 

Considering those words, Castiel’s attention turns back towards Claire, who has gotten distracted by making a flower crown. “That’s… wonderful, actually.”

“Claire’s a really good kid, though. She keeps herself occupied well enough and seeks out company when she feels like it. Honestly, I’m lucky.”

“She’s lucky to have you as a dad,” Castiel says honestly. He fiddles with his mug a bit. “My relationship with my parents was… dismal, at best. My father was very strictly religious and imposed a lot of rules.” His gaze turns from Claire towards Dean. “Claire’s childhood is filled with color. Mine was… grey.” 

Dean’s brows furrow a bit. “That sucks, man.”

Castiel glances down at his mug. He hates talking about his past, about his childhood, but something about Dean makes it a little easier to do. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words - but also knowing it’s very, very important that Dean knows this particular detail. “I came out of the closet when I was seventeen. My father sent me off to one of those camps that tries to turn kids ‘straight’ by beating bible verses directly into their brain. I spent a whole summer trapped in a gay concentration camp.” He hears Dean suck in a breath, but he keeps his gaze resolutely on his coffee mug. “Of course, I didn’t magically change my sexuality. I turned eighteen a few weeks after I returned home and, thankfully, had been accepted into the university I applied for. I had a full scholarship and took advantage of the housing options and… never looked back.” Castiel licks his lips. “My father died two years later, and my mother shortly after that.”

The silence that settles over them is heavy. Castiel just bled his heart out on the table for the first time in what feels like forever, and he’s not ready to see the expression on Dean’s face. Lots of people give him piteous glances, apologize for his father’s behavior, wonder if his broken heart still needs mending. After a few moments Castiel raises his gaze, and is shocked to see not pity in Dean’s eyes, but _anger_.

“That’s really fucked up, man,” Dean declares. “Who the hell does that to a kid?” 

Castiel huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Apparently my parents.”

“I can’t imagine what you went through, Cas. That’s terrible.” Dean shakes his head, his expression softening from anger into concern. “You ever talk about this to anyone?”

“Like a professional?” Castiel gleans from Dean’s tone of voice. He shrugs. “I saw a therapist for a while in my early twenties. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my parents were predispositioned to think that way, and that it had nothing to do with me, personally.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, before he speaks softly. “Do you still think your life is grey?” 

Castiel meets Dean’s gaze, finally, and thinks really hard about Dean’s question. 

Castiel hates his job. He hates his car. He hates his apartment, he hates that he has no social life. His life is, indeed, very drab and grey. 

But after meeting Dean - Dean who is as bright as the sun, and reminds Castiel of the color yellow - Castiel thinks that his grey world is starting to change. Dean who is yellow, Claire who is orange, and Dean’s friends who make up the rest of the rainbow. Dean who fixes his car because he wants to, buys him coffee to share, and gets him a gift just ‘cause. 

He feels a small smile curling on his lips despite himself. 

“I think it’s getting less and less grey the more I live it.” 

And it’s that truth - and the way that Dean lights up in reply - that scares Castiel deep to his core.

The storm clouds are slowly making way for the rainbow, and Castiel decides that it’s worth it.

Dean Winchester is his friend, and Castiel is better for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all your sweet comments ♥  
> this fic is a huge challenge for me and i hope it doesn't show lmao  
> check me out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) if you love looking at jensen ackles's kneecaps


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean:** did u ever put air in ur tire?  
**Cas:** Yes, this morning.  
**Dean:** good. can’t have ur pimpmobile hangin too low lol  
**Cas:** It is not a ‘pimpmobile’.  
**Dean:** uh have u SEEN it? it’s a pimpmobile cas. ain’t nothin wrong with that  
**Cas:** In that case, would you be willing to put a hydraulic system in it?  
**Dean:** LOL  
**Dean:** no  
**Cas:** Take all of the fun out of it.  
**Dean:** but i’ll put on some sweet rims if u want  
**Cas:** Spinners?  
**Dean:** HAHA  
**Dean:** no  
**Dean:** dude  
**Dean:** wtf  
**Cas:** Pimp my ride, Dean.  
**Dean:** i’m deleting your number

\--

Over the next week, Dean texts Castiel frequently. Sometimes it’s stupid and mundane things, like “what’s the point of having a dishwasher if u have to rinse the dishes before u load it”, and sometimes it’s deeper things like “One of these days I’m going to strangle Crowley with his own tie. I’ll use the ugliest one he has so it will be the last thing he sees before he goes to Hell”. The conversations flow easily enough and it’s been a long time since Castiel has felt camaraderie like this with anyone, but of course, it’s just so easy to be friends with Dean. Dean doesn’t blow him up if he doesn’t reply right away, and he never pries about anything too private. Granted, all they’re doing is texting, so it’s not like either of them can get into too deep of a conversation.

Castiel is just… thankful. Dean is a welcome distraction from the terrible humdrum of his life, and along with the help of his new percolator, Castiel has been - dare he say - _chipper_ all week. Everyone in the office has taken notice, especially Balthazar, who won’t leave him alone any chance he gets.

Like now, while Castiel is in the breakroom _trying_ to enjoy his strawberry poppyseed salad while the news plays on the television.

“I’m just curious, Cassie,” Balthazar drawls from his seat opposite of Castiel. “The last time you were this happy at work it was the week before you went on vacation to the Bahamas.” He lifts a brow. “Are you going on vacation soon?”

“No, but I should,” Castiel replies flatly. 

Balthazar folds his arms over his chest and rolls his eyes a little. “Why don’t you share anything with me? We’re friends.”

“Are we?” Castiel squints. “I was under the impression that friendship was a situation in which two people benefit each other in mutual ways. Like sharing thoughts, kindness, and compassion.”

Balthazar flutters a hand over his heart, “I _care_ about you, Cassie~”

Castiel stares at him for a few seconds, and then returns to his salad. “Well, stop.”

“You must be seeing someone,” Balthazar suddenly says. “In all your time working here you’ve been single, right? So that’s…” he taps his chin and then counts on his fingers, eyes trailing up towards the ceiling. “Fifteen years of solidarity. For your mood to change so drastically without an impending trip South, it’s a obvious conclusion.” 

Tensing his jaw a little, Castiel stares down at his salad. “I’m not dating anyone. I’ve just made a new friend.”

Balthazar blinks. “A _real_ friend?”

Castiel glowers. “This is why I don’t tell you anything, Balthazar.”

Balthazar raises his hands in surrender, “I didn’t mean it like that, Cassie. It’s just… the only people you frequently contact are customers and coworkers. Where did you meet this new friend?”

“He did some work on my car.” Castiel isn’t sure how much detail he wants to go into with Balthazar. The man is like a dog with a bone if he even so much as suspects he can set Castiel up with someone (i.e., Mick Davies). When Castiel looks up from his salad Balthazar is sending him a contemplating, measuring look, and Castiel rolls his eyes a bit. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Is he-” Balthazar hums. “Do you like him?”

“I should hope I do, since I consider him a friend,” Castiel snips.

“I’m expressing genuine interest in your life, Cassie, I would appreciate if you would cut the attitude.”

Castiel sighs. Balthazar has a point. He scratches behind his ear idly with his free hand. “I do like him, but he’s straight and has a family.”

“Oh,” Balthazar’s expression turns sympathetic. 

“Don’t,” Castiel says. “It’s fine. He’s a genuine, kind person, and I’m very thankful to know him. Being his friend is a blessing.”

Balthazar drums his fingers over the table idly. “If you say so, sweetie. But if it becomes too much to bear…” he stands up, sending Castiel an honestly sincere look. “Please remove yourself from the situation before you get hurt.”

Balthazar leaves the breakroom, and Castiel stares after him in surprise. Sure, Balthazar is plenty annoying, but Castiel has never considered him a bad person. Just obnoxious. However, the genuine concern he just showed for Castiel has the man reflecting. If things go south with Dean - if he really truly falls too deep down the rabbit hole - will he be able to pull away? Could Castiel stand not having Dean in his life?

That’s a path Castiel would rather not look down. Sighing to himself, he pokes at his salad.

It’s awfully colorful.

\--

“Hey!” Dean greets Castiel at the pump, pressing his hand down on the hood of Castiel’s car and making the body bounce a little. 

Castiel watches him with an arched brow as he puts the nozzle into the tank. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean bounces the car again, frowning. “Your suspension is off.”

“Would you stop manhandling my car?” Castiel asks dryly. “She’s a lady.”

Dean snorts, lifting a grin towards Castiel. “Uh huh.”

“Cas!” Claire bounces up, holding a water bottle in her hands. “My teacher put our picture up on the show and tell board!”

Castiel warms immediately. “That’s wonderful, Claire. Now everyone can see Hopper even though you had to let him go.”

Claire nods, blonde curls bouncing. “Mrs. Brown asked who helped me draw it, and I said you helped!” From behind her, Dean fumbles a little, his hand slipping off the hood of the car and making him almost topple over. “I said you were daddy’s special friend, and that you’re really handsome and smart!”

“Claire-” Dean tries.

She talks over him, “I said I want you to come over a lot so we can make more pretty pictures! And that your car is really cool, even though daddy thinks it’s lame. Oh, and that you like rainbows! Like daddy does!”

Castiel blinks at the onslaught of information, a little stunned that Claire had been talking about him so much at school. His gaze lifts towards Dean, who looks properly embarrassed, and then looks down at Claire with a soft, fond smile.

“Thank you for saying such nice things about me, Claire,” Castiel says, crouching down so he can be on her level.

She beams, and surprises him by stepping forward and throwing her arms around him for a hug. “Daddy says lotsa nice things about you, too! Only he does it when you’re not here.” She pulls away from Castiel, one hand still at the back of his neck, her other hand coming towards her mouth so she can press her finger to her lips. “But shh, it’s a secret! I don’t think he wants you to know he says nice things!”

Castiel’s head spins and with confusion as his heart swells with adoration. Claire looks pleased as punch and Castiel glances up towards Dean, who has a hand over his eyes. 

“Claire bear,” Dean groans. “It’s not a secret anymore.”

“Oh!” Claire blinks, and then slaps her hand over his mouth as she pulls away from Castiel. “Sorry daddy!”

Castiel stands up, straightening his tie idly, before sending Dean a small smile. “Secrets don’t make friends, Dean.”

Dean pulls his hand away from his face so Castiel can see his eye roll. “Shut up.”

“You say nice things about me when I’m not around?” Castiel continues, the smile widening on his features. 

“I say nice things to your face,” Dean bristles.

“No you don’t,” Claire chirps.

Dean glares down at her, and Castiel laughs.

“What nice things do you say about me?” Castiel presses.

“Nothing, now.” Dean quips.

The gas nozzle clunks to a stop and the spell is broken. Castiel is pulled from the flirtatious trance and clears his throat, doing his best not to blush. Bantering with Dean is all too easy. “Well, Dean,” Castiel says as he puts the nozzle back on the pump. He sends Dean a small, playful smile. “Maybe one day you’ll man up and say them to my face.”

“Y’know what?” Dean points a finger at Castiel, and then pauses, clearly fishing for something to say. Castiel’s head tilts as he blinks patiently, and then after about fifteen seconds, Dean huffs. “Fine! You- you, uh-” Dean trips over his words a little. Claire smacks him in the stomach. Dean meets Castiel’s gaze, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, looking like a man on a mission. “You have really pretty eyes.”

Time stops. The clouds part. Castiel feels colors blossom in his vision like a kaleidoscope, oranges and yellows and green, his heartbeat quickening. He hadn’t been expecting that ‘something nice’ to be a compliment on a physical trait. Mouth dry, Castiel keeps his expression neutral, before he fixes on a reply.

“So I’ve been told.”

Dean laughs in surprise and shakes his head, his posture relaxing. “See? You don’t deserve it!” 

Castiel’s lips twitch with the difficulty of keeping a straight expression. “That was a rather tame ‘nice thing’ to say, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“Oh! Cas! You should say something nice to daddy!” Claire says.

Easily, Castiel replies with, “Your freckles are handsome.”, and ok, maybe that shouldn’t have come out of his mouth so soon. But oh, the way it makes Dean blush up to his ears, freckles standing out against the flush, his green eyes bright. It’s worth the anxiety Castiel feels swirling in his gut, worth the way Dean shrinks in on himself just slightly in embarrassment as he tries to fight off the words.

They just gave each other physical compliments.

Dean thinks his eyes are _pretty_.

“I like daddy’s freckles too!” Claire says happily. Then, she tugs on Dean’s hand. “We gotta go~”

Snapping out of his daze, Dean offers a slightly subdued smile towards Castiel, the expression entirely foreign on his usually confident features. “Uh- see ya Sunday, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart flips in his chest. “Have a good day, Dean. Bye, Claire.”

“Bye!” Claire says, physically tugging Dean away from Castiel. 

Once they’ve ridden off, Castiel slumps against his car, burying his face in his hands to try and wipe off the huge smile on his features. He laughs a little deliriously to himself, and when he pulls his hands away, the man on the other side of the pump is giving him pretty severe side-eye. Unable to stop smiling, Castiel gets into his car, letting out a breath. 

Dean Winchester thinks he has pretty eyes.

\--

 **Dean:** u really do have pretty eyes  
**Dean:** claire is such a brat, she said it first. i just agreed  
**Cas:** Complimenting someone is a very nice gesture, Dean. I appreciated it.  
**Dean:** it wasn’t weird?  
**Cas:** Why would it be? I do believe the world would be a better place if people spoke to each other kindly more often.  
**Dean:** for such a tightwad u can be kinda inspirational  
**Cas:** Two compliments in one day. I am honored.  
**Dean:** blocked

\--

At the grocery store on Saturday, Castiel pushes his cart around slowly. He’s in no particular rush; he’s got a list, but something about the hustle and bustle of the store around him makes him lose his urgency to do anything quickly. On his list are things he doesn’t normally buy: apples, oranges, bananas, peppers, cabbage. It’s not that he doesn’t eat healthy - he does - but he’s stuck in old ways and never really branches out to try anything new. Now, he’s drawn to the more colorful options, the more flavorful options, and he finds himself spending much longer than usual in the produce section.

“Cas?”

A voice behind him causes him to turn around, surprised to see Jo standing by the potatoes with a basket on her arm.

“Oh-” Castiel feels the world spin around him, but he manages a friendly smile. “Hello, Jo.”

“Hey,” she smiles warmly and approaches him. Peering into his basket, she arches a brow up at him. “Going on a cleanse?”

Her sense of humor reminds him of Dean, which reminds him of how perfect they are for each other. “Just trying a few new recipes.” A thought occurs to him. “Why are you shopping so far away from home?”

Jo’s head tilts a little, confusion filtering over her features. “I live a few blocks away from here.”

Castiel’s mind struggles to absorb that information. Jo seems to realize something, though, and she laughs.

“Oh- wait. You thought Dean and I live together?” she asks. There’s no sarcasm or malice in her voice.

“I- yes.” Castiel replies dumbly. “You’re… dating, aren’t you?” 

Jo’s nose wrinkles, but more in good humor than actual distaste. “No- we haven’t been together for a long time. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you.”

Castiel’s brain vacates the premises. “Oh.”

“But,” she waves a hand, “you don’t wanna hear about that.” He does. Desperately. “Anyway if you wanna try something new, I have this killer recipe for cucumber salad. Don’t tell anyone I eat cucumber salad, though.” she laughs. 

She’s beautiful.

She’s not Dean’s girlfriend.

“I would like that,” he finds himself saying, almost robotically. “I’ve never had cucumber salad.”

“Cucumber anything is great in my books,” Jo says, setting her basket down on the ground so she can fish around in her large purse. She grabs a notepad and pen, starting to jot down ingredients. “Especially cucumber mojitos, the balance between cucumber and mint…”

Castiel tunes her out, eyes distractedly watching her pen scribble on the paper. Jo and Dean aren’t dating. Dean is single. Dean doesn’t have a romantic interest in his life. Jo and Dean don’t live together. Now that Castiel thinks about it, he’s never seen Jo at Dean’s house - and Dean never really brings her up in conversation, either. He racks his brain to think about that Wikipedia article, where the **Relationship Status: Single** had been completely missed during the scan. It just hadn’t registered for him. There’s no way a man like Dean Winchester is single.

“Anyway,” the tearing of the paper from the notepad brings Castiel crashing back to reality. Jo is smiling prettily as she hands it over to him, “Try the salad and if you like it, I can give you some other pointers as well.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, a little stilted. He folds up the paper and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Jo sends him a curious glance. “You hang out with Dean a lot?”

“Um- I go over on Sundays so he can work on my car.”

“Just Sundays?” Jo seems a little surprised.

“Yes,” Castiel’s brows knit a little. “Why?”

“The way Claire talks about you it sounds like they see you more,” Jo muses.

“Oh,” Castiel hums. “They stop at the gas station on the same day I do every week.”

“Morning motorcycle rides,” Jo confirms with a small smile. “Claire seems to really like you.”

“She’s a wonderful girl,” Castiel says honestly. “You’ve both done well in raising her.”

Jo flushes a little at the compliment, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Cas. That’s really nice to hear.” As her hand drops she checks her watch, and then tuts. “I gotta get going. Next time you come to the roadhouse tell me how you like that salad, ok?”

“Of course, Jo,” Castiel replies. 

She turns to walk away towards the checkout registers, Castiel’s gaze watching her thoughtfully. He just got overloaded with a lot of information and it’s quite a bit to swallow.

Dean is single.

Castiel turns towards the bell peppers, staring thoughtfully at them. Why wouldn’t Dean mention that he and Jo weren’t together? Thinking about it, though, Castiel feels sort of like an idiot for assuming. Neither of them wear rings, they weren’t overly affectionate with one another, and the biggest hint is that Jo is basically absent from Dean’s life. Even Claire doesn’t talk about her that often. He wonders what the parenting plan is between all of them. It seems as though Dean has Claire all of the time…

But that’s none of his business. He shouldn’t pry into Dean’s life like that, even though he’s now burning with curiosity.

Taking the time to pick through the peppers and make sure he gets good ones, Castiel walks out of the produce aisle with a thoughtful expression on his features. He and Dean are friends, so it’s not like this is something they can’t talk about; but at the same time, if _Dean_ wanted to talk about it, surely he would have brought it up? So then Castiel should respect that.

Dean is single, and Dean is his friend.

Rein it in, Castiel.

\--

On Sunday after Castiel parks his car, Dean suggests they have a cup of coffee on the back porch. Castiel readily agrees, stretching his arms over his head and rolling the sleeves of his sweatshirt up. They get comfortable on the cushioned patio chairs, side by side, and Castiel tips his head back a bit as he inhales the smell of coffee and freshly cut lawn. 

“Jo said she saw you at the grocery store,” Dean says.

Castiel dribbles some coffee down his chin. “Uh-” he wipes his mouth hurriedly with the back of his hand. “Yes. She gave me a recipe for cucumber salad.”

Dean snorts. “Kinda weird, but ok.”

Castiel can’t help but smile. “Ah, she did tell me to not tell anyone…”

“You suck at keeping secrets,” Dean laughs. Castiel feels his eyes on him, so he turns to meet his gaze. Dean’s expression is soft around the edges, but his green eyes are searching. “You uh. She-” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I didn’t realize you thought we were together.”

“She’s the mother of your child, Dean,” Castiel says simply, with a shrug. “It was an easy assumption to make.”

“I just- man.” Dean blows out a sigh, his hand dropping to slap down on his thigh. “I guess I haven’t really been that straightforward with you, huh?”

Castiel holds his coffee mug in both hands over his lap. “Privacy is important, Dean. We haven’t known each other long and I don’t expect you to spill everything to me. Things can be worked up to.”

“That’s not- that’s not really what I mean,” Dean admits. 

That causes Castiel to glance over at him with his brow arched. Getting Dean alone like this to talk is truly a treat; Claire had ridden off on her bicycle to go over to Alex’s house, leaving the two men alone. Castiel loves hanging out with Claire, of course- but like this he really gets to see Dean in his true colors (orange, yellow, green) and have real conversation, uninterrupted.

“What _do_ you mean?” Castiel asks.

Dean’s eyes rove over Castiel’s face for a moment, before he shakes his head minutely. “Uh. Jo and I… our relationship is kinda unique. We grew up together. She was like a sister to me- but she always had a little crush, y’know? One night we were stupid and got drunk and one thing lead to another…” he taps his thumb on the handle of his mug, his gaze out on the yard. “When she got pregnant we thought we could make it work. As a couple. But it wasn’t in the cards. I still thought of her as a little sister and she wanted more than I could give her.” His free hand lifts to run through his hair. “Claire’s the best damn thing that ever happened to me. I used to be real reckless and had kind of a ‘fuck all’ attitude. Jo understood that we couldn’t be together. Our agreement is that I support her, and have Claire most of the time.”

“May I ask why Claire spends more time with you?” Castiel asks softly. He can’t believe Dean is sharing such treasured information with him, and he’s holding this moment close to his heart. He has already surmised that Dean isn’t keen on letting people in on his deeper emotions, keeping his walls up high. “You don’t have to answer any of my questions, Dean. I understand this is a difficult topic.”

“It is,” Dean agrees, “but I also think you deserve to know. Jo is a good mom, and she really loves Claire, but… she had really bad postpartum depression. And I don’t think she’s ever really come to terms with the fact that I don’t love her like that. Claire… is a reminder of something that she can’t have.”

“Ah,” Castiel nods in understanding. 

“But I love Jo like a sister and I would never leave her unsupported. So I got her a nice apartment close to her job, pay her tuition at school, and make sure she never goes without. In return, I get Claire for three weeks out of the month.”

Castiel’s heart breaks a little bit. “I’m sorry things are like that.”

“When I lay it all out like that,” Dean laughs a little, “it sounds pretty shitty. But it works well for us. And Jo- she’s happy. She’s doing really well for herself and I’m glad I didn’t lose her. We co-parent well together and Claire, even though she’s a bit too little to really understand, doesn’t ever peep a complaint.”

Castiel regards Dean’s profile for a moment, before he speaks softly, “You are an amazing person, Dean.”

Dean gets a little sheepish with the praise. “I just believe in doin’ what’s best.”

They fall into silence after that, sipping on their coffee and watching the breeze sway through the trees and the flowers. Once their mugs are drained they both stand; Dean takes their mugs inside and Castiel walks down the steps to head towards the garage, putting his hand on the hood of his car and giving it a little bounce. His suspension, huh?

Dean comes in, grinning when he sees Castiel pressing on the hood of his car. “Suspension is basically what dictates how smoothly your car moves between the frame and the tires. If it gets thrown off your car takes a beating any time you’re on the road.”

Nodding, Castiel hums. “Is this along the lines of rotating the tires?” 

“Sorta,” Dean says. “I like to check suspension when I rotate tires since I’m already down there. When’s the last time you got your tires rotated, anyway?” 

Castiel tries to think. “Perhaps...last summer?”

Dean winces, “Ouch.” He laughs. “We’ll get that taken care of. Today we’re gonna fully jack up your car so we can do the work easily.” He sends Castiel a playful look, “Can’t have you on the crawler. Gotta take care of your old bones.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You don’t even know how old I am.”

“Forty?” Dean hazards. Castiel lifts his index finger. Dean blinks, “Older?”

“Forty-three,” Castiel supplies. A guessing game is just going to make him feel even worse about their age difference.

“Woah,” Dean’s gaze rakes over Castiel’s form in what is clearly an appreciative manner. “You don’t look it.”

“Yes, well, eating right and jogging seems to do the trick,” Castiel says flatly, even though tingles race down his spine with the weight of Dean’s gaze.

Dean laughs. “You got good genetics too.”

Castiel rolls his eyes a little. “Let’s get to work.”

Together they jack up the car and Dean coaches Castiel on which tools are best for the job. Castiel pays attention and does his best to focus, but his eyes keep straying to the way Dean’s biceps flex, the tshirt he’s wearing worn to thin threads and the hems of his sleeves encroaching dangerously into tank top territory. There’s a smudge of brake grease along his jaw and by the time they’ve rotated the tires Castiel is hot, sweaty, and halfway aroused. Working with Dean in close quarters is good for learning, but terrible for his libido. They come up for air and Dean hands Castiel a rag before grabbing one for himself, the pair of them wiping their hands clean.

“You…” Castiel glances over at Dean, his eyes trailing towards the man’s jaw. “You have some-” he gestures at his own jaw.

Dean blinks, and then lifts his rag up towards his face, wiping around with a clean part. He misses the smudge completely, checking his rag and finding it clean - he laughs a little, before leaning in to Castiel and angling his jaw towards him. “Help me out?”

This close Castiel’s senses are invaded by Dean, and he holds his breath so he doesn’t get overwhelmed. He lifts up his own rag and uses his free hand to cup Dean’s jaw to hold it steady, his other hand gently running the rag along stubbly skin, his heartbeat thudding against his ribcage. Dean leans into him, tilts his head a little, his eyes closing as Castiel gently rubs the rag to get the smear to wipe away. It takes a few seconds, and Castiel is being careful so he doesn’t rub Dean’s skin raw - when he pulls his hand away Dean’s eyes open, green flecked with gold, and Castiel suddenly can’t move.

“There,” he says uselessly, his voice almost croaking. 

It’s subtle, but Dean moves a fraction closer. Castiel stays rooted to the spot. He feels Dean’s breath puffing out against his lips and panic swirls in Castiel’s gut - surely Dean isn’t going to kiss him? His eyes are still on Castiel’s and Castiel swallows thickly, Dean’s eyes then dropping to track the movement.

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out, a question, a plea. His hand with the rag is frozen in the air between their bodies, hovering awkwardly, and there’s no mistaking the way Dean’s gaze flicks from his mouth back up to Castiel’s eyes.

Don’t do this. Don’t lead him on anymore, his heart can’t take it.

Another fraction closer, and oh, Dean’s head is actually tilting, his lashes lowering slightly, and if Castiel would move to meet him they would-

“Daddy!” Claire skids to a halt on her bicycle in the driveway, kicking up loose gravel.

Dean seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, taking a full step away from Castiel and clearing his throat, bringing his rag up to his face to idly pat where Castiel had cleaned the smudge. “Hey, baby girl,” he greets, his voice sounding a bit thick.

“Hi Cas!” Claire greets as she bounces into the garage while unbuckling her helmet. 

Thankful for the distraction, Castiel turns fully around so he can say hello properly, trying to get his heartbeat back to normal. “Good afternoon, Claire. Did you have fun at Alex’s?”

“Yeah!” Claire sets her bicycle helmet next to where her motorcycle helmet is propped up on a bench along with some other gear. “Ms. Jody said to tell daddy that if he wants to keep having you over on Sundays I should just stay the night at her house on Saturday and come home Sunday night!”

Castiel chews his lower lip to prevent himself from smiling. “And why is that?”

“She says you two need ‘alone time’,” she says, lifting up her small hands to make air quotes. She rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby, I know what that means.”

Dean drops a tool to the floor with a clatter behind Castiel, and Castiel finally allows himself to smile. “What does it mean, Claire?”

“That you two-” she clasps her hands behind her back and kicks her toe to the ground innocently, speaking with a very know-it-all attitude. “That you two wanna hold hands when I’m not around.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raise - Claire is too precious for this world. He hears Dean drop something else behind him but Castiel ignores him, instead deciding to interrogate Claire further. “And why would your dad and I like to hold hands?”

Her nose wrinkles as she meets Castiel’s gaze. “ _Duh_ , because you two are in _like_!”

“Ok!” Dean’s voice finally finds itself and Dean comes forward, scooping Claire up into his arms. “I dunno what crazy tv shows you’ve been watching-”

Claire giggles and squeals. “But daddy!! You two were just gonna _kiss_!! I saw!!!” 

He carries her towards the house, tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Claire is laughing maniacally, holding her hands out towards Cas. “Caaaaas!! Help me!”

Castiel is standing by now, covering his mouth with one hand so he can keep the delirious, giddy laughter from spilling. He clears his throat and shakes his head, shrugging. “Sorry Claire, it seems like the big grumpy monster has gotten you.”

“Grumpy monster!” she squeals.

Dean throws Castiel a glare over his shoulder, but his mouth is quirked in an attempt to keep himself from smiling as he clomps up the steps of the back porch. “Little missy, you go inside and wash your hands, and then we’ll have lunch together.”

“You’re just tryna get rid of me so you can smooch some more!” she laughs brightly, and then she darts into the house before Dean can grab her.

Returning his hand to his mouth, Castiel leans against his car, his free hand tucked into his armpit as he does his best to not just laugh outright at the ridiculous expression on Dean’s features as he walks back towards the workshop. Ah, the magic of children. When Dean’s in range he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a blustery sigh. “I uh- wow.”

“Were we?” Castiel asks from behind his hand, his words muffled as he regards Dean’s flustered expression. 

“Were we, uh, what-?” Dean refuses to meet Castiel’s gaze.

“Were we about to kiss?” His heart starts thudding again. Don’t give yourself false hope, Novak. Just iron out the situation and move on.

“I-” Dean cuts himself off. “We-” again. He wipes his hands on his tshirt, smudging a bit of grease onto the fabric. He finally squares his shoulders and looks up at Castiel, green gaze fierce. “I was gonna, but- but only if you wanted. ‘Cause like- I don’t… I don’t wanna disrespect you or anythin’.”

Castiel’s heart tries to replace his tongue. Dean _was_ going to kiss him. And he just admitted it. Oh- oh. _Oh_. After a few seconds, he finally manages to find words. “Dean, that’s very considerate of you.” Until yesterday, Castiel had thought that Dean was in a relationship with a woman. Didn’t even have an _inkling_ that Dean would be anywhere near him on the kinsey scale. But in twenty-four hours he’s learned that Dean is single and _wants to kiss him_ and it’s a lot to take in. Castiel needs to keep himself a little guarded. “But… I don’t want to kiss you.”

Dean registers the words slowly and then slouches slightly, dropping his gaze to the floor, brow furrowing in clear disappointment. “I under-”

“Yet,” Castiel interrupts.

Dean blinks up at Castiel in surprise. “What?”

Castiel offers a small smile. “I don’t want to kiss you… yet.” He pulls his hand away from his mouth. “Dean, up until yesterday I thought you were with Jo. Believe me, when we first met- you could have taken me away right then and there and I would have never looked back. But getting to know you over the past month and accepting the fact that you were probably straight and very happily taken by Jo, it…” he licks his lips, hating the way this admission sounds. “It has been difficult.”

Dean takes a step forward, “I’m really- fuck, man. I’m so sorry I screwed all of this up. I should have been straight with you from the beginning. I… I saw you in the parking lot and wanted to talk to you so bad, Cas, and your car was the perfect excuse and all I could think of.” he lets out a small breath. “S’been a while since I’ve been interested in anyone. I’m a little rusty.”

Castiel’s head tilts a little. “I assure you, I am much more inexperienced.” He pauses, and then lets his eyes search Dean’s expression. “I’m just curious, I suppose, as to… why you’re interested in me?” He’s so grey.

Dean is so colorful.

Dean’s gaze snaps up and he steps into Castiel’s space, reaching for his hands. Oh- oh. That’s nice. Castiel subconsciously laces their fingers together and the fierce expression on Dean’s features knocks the wind out of his lungs.

“You’re awesome,” Dean says. “You’re so easygoing and fun to talk to. You’re really good with Claire, you deal with my shit - even when you thought I was with Jo. You didn’t even know who I was until the night at the roadhouse and I just... “ he licks his lips. “You’re so _real_ to me, Cas. S’been a long time since I’ve found that outside of my circle of friends.”

Castiel is a little caught off guard by the words, but he feels them in his soul. Again, here is Dean wearing his heart on his sleeve and speaking honesty like he doesn’t know how to lie, and Castiel finds himself being swept away by it. Humbled by it. Emboldened by it.

“Bein’ your friend has been really great,” he says, his hands squeezing Castiel’s. “But- bein’... bein’ more than that would be really great, too. When you’re ready,” he adds. “If you’re ready.”

It’s a lot to take in. Castiel’s head is spinning. He looks down at their joined hands, Claire’s words echoing around in his brain, and then he chuckles softly. “Dean.”

Dean really could give a puppy a run for its money with the way he’s currently regarding Castiel.

“While kissing is off the table, holding hands is not.” 

The way Dean lights up makes sunbursts explode in Castiel’s eyes. Dean squeezes his hands and nods, looking all sorts of bashful and handsome, as he tugs Castiel closer. “Awesome.”

Castiel thinks he’s going to melt, so he deflects by rolling his eyes a little. “Isn’t there a little girl that needs to be fed?”

Dean laughs, letting go of Castiel’s hands. “Yeah- shit, you’re right. Ok, let’s go have lunch and then we’ll come out and finish working on the suspension and then get you outta here.”

Castiel follows Dean as they make their way up towards the house. “Was fixing my car really a concealed attempt to try to… date me?” he finds himself asking.

“Guilty as charged,” Dean says, laughing. “But it’s been a while since I’ve even thought about hitting on someone, so no wonder you had no idea. I ain’t got no game.”

“You’re charmingly terrible at flirting,” Castiel says.

“And you’re attractively dense,” Dean fires back.

“What ever shall we do,” Castiel says dryly as they enter the house.

“KISS!!” Claire yells from the kitchen.

Dean snorts and Castiel smiles wryly. This time they take off their shoes and join Claire in the kitchen where she’s sitting patiently on a stool at the island, a coloring book open in front of her. 

“Daddy can I have peanut butter and jelly?” she asks, feet bouncing against the legs of the chair, her eyes not looking up from the book.

“You don’t want anything fancy?” Dean asks as he moves to the sink to start soaping up his hands and arms up to his elbows. “I was thinking paninis.”

Claire gasps in delight, “Paninis!!”

“Atta girl,” Dean says with a grin as he dries his hands. Castiel replaces him at the sink so he can give his hands and arms the same treatment. Dean pulls some things out of the fridge and then sends Castiel a wink, “Ready to try some gourmet lunch?”

A very inappropriate response is on the tip of his tongue about eating Dean instead of lunch but Claire is humming happily to herself at the island, so he bites it back and instead sends a small smile. “That depends. Will it immediately clog my arteries?” he asks a little dryly, grabbing the towel Dean had used to start drying his hands.

“Man,” Dean pretends to pout, “I confided in you about my bacon addiction. I don’t need you throwing it in my face like that.”

“I will eat whatever you make, Dean,” Castiel says, hanging the towel on the oven handle. “I’ll admit I’m not much of a chef, myself. I can cook fine, but I’m not very adventurous.”

“Well then, consider it my mission to feed you delicious food,” Dean says, tossing Castiel a wink over his shoulder as he pulls out a panini grill from a lower cabinet. He turns to set everything on the island and Castiel glances over the meats, cheeses, and vegetables laid out. He picks up a mason jar with no label filled with a pale orange sauce, turning it this way and that.

“I make my own dressings,” Dean explains as he plugs in the grill. “That one’s my own thousand island recipe.”

Castiel blinks in surprise, setting the jar down. There’s a few other jars on the counter, the dressings and sauces inside different colors and textures, and Castiel is reminded how … drab his food selection used to be, before Dean entered his life. Now Castiel’s fridge and cupboards are full of color. 

“Do you cook from scratch often?” Castiel moves to sit on the stool next to Claire, who turns a sunny smile up at him before going back to her coloring book.

“I have a pretty strict diet,” Dean says. “I have to stay a certain weight or else it throws off my rider-to-bike ratio.”

“Which means daddy can only have pie once a month,” Claire announces.

Castiel snorts, and then covers his mouth so he can clear his throat and school his features. Judging by the murderous look on Dean’s face, having pie once a month is clearly not enough. “That is very unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” Dean grumbles. He puts slices of cheese on three pieces of bread and then puts them carefully on the hot grill, before he starts picking through the selection of meats. “Any requests?”

“I’m open to anything,” Castiel replies.

Dean glances up sharply at that, green eyes flicking over Castiel’s features, making the accountant’s heart speed up a bit. Dean is giving him a pretty intense look over sandwich fixings, but when Castiel thinks over what he’d said, he realizes what the double entendre could be. He glances down at Claire, who is humming to herself as she colors a purple hummingbird, and then he finds himself smiling, returning his gaze towards Dean and lifting one of his shoulders in a small, but communicating shrug. 

Dean smiles to himself as he returns to fixing the sandwiches. Claire starts talking about her week at school and how she’s the best speller and Castiel gets a little lost in the domesticity that is hanging out while Dean fixes their lunch. It feels scarily natural and Castiel suddenly realizes that there’s a possibility for him to… _have_ this. To have Dean and Claire, to eat with them and play with them and stay with them. 

Claire.

If Castiel dates Dean, if they become serious- Castiel will become a step parent, more or less. Is he ready for that? He’s gone through his whole existence resigned to the thought that he wouldn’t ever have kids, especially since he’s stayed dismally single for most of his adult life. Claire is a great kid, but Castiel couldn’t tell you the first thing about actually being a _parent_. His own upbringing had been so twisted and warped, he has no idea how to even conceptualize what it takes to raise a child. Would he be a terrible parent? A good parent? What if Claire ends up not liking him? What if he does something that makes Dean mad? 

“Cas?”

Dean’s questioning tone makes Castiel snap out of his panicking thoughts. “Hm?”

“You look like you’re about to spook,” Dean says, and his tone of voice is light, but his eyes are a little concerned, like he can hear Castiel’s flimsy thoughts trying to melt his brain out of his ears.

Castiel shakes his head minutely, smile tight. He doesn’t need Dean knowing what kind of crazy line of thinking he just went down. Sure, Dean had just admitted to wanting to date Castiel, but what does that entail? Something casual? Something serious? Something in the middle? “I hope not,” Castiel finds himself answering honestly.

Dean laughs. “Well- good. We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Daddy, you should take Cas to your special place!” Claire wiggles a little, switching out her purple crayon for a blue one.

“You have a special place?” Castiel asks.

Dean looks a little humbled as he shrugs, finishing fixing up the sandwiches and then closing the grill. “Yeah, I do. But uh- I dunno if it’s first date material.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Don’t be selfish confucious, daddy.”

Dean and Castiel both blink at Claire. Then Dean says, “You mean ‘self conscious’?”

“S’what I said,” Claire grumbles.

Castiel chuckles, returning his attention back to Dean. “Where is your special place?”

Dean’s cheeks puff out with the breath he exhales. “Fine- ok. But I’m not tellin’ you where it is until we get there.”

Castiel props his elbows up on the counter, chin adolescently tucked in his fists, a playfully dreamy look in his eyes. “Can we ride your motorcycle?”

Dean turns around to start pulling plates down from a cupboard, “The two of us won’t fit on my regular bike. We can take the Heritage.”

Castiel squints. “How many motorcycles do you have?” 

Dean grins as he turns around. “Well, you’ve only seen two rooms in my three-car garage, so…”

“Perhaps I’m not ready to know,” Castiel chuckles. He glances down towards the page Claire is coloring, arching a brow when he sees she’s drawn a skull and crossbones on one of the wings of the hummingbird. She’s singing happily to herself while she colors and he smiles fondly, unable to keep the expression off his features. He supposes that whatever happens, he’s ready to learn it all. 

When he glances towards Dean he’s unsurprised to see the man regarding him quietly, and Castiel’s smile gets a little shy, dropping his gaze when Dean lifts the grill to check the status of the sandwiches.

“Lunch is served,” Dean says after a few moments pass, dishing the paninis onto the plates and placing them down on the counter. 

Castiel helps Claire gather her crayons and put the box and book off towards the side. He rips a square off of the paper towel roll sitting on the edge of the island and places it next to Claire’s plate, then rips off two more for himself and Dean. Dean takes his seat on the other side of Claire and as they settle in to eating lunch and listening to Claire talk about how Ms. Jodie allows Alex to have a purple streak in her hair, Castiel thinks that… yes, this is all very scary.

But it also feels very, very good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claire is adorable and i want one  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) so you can see my replies to the spn_bot


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls take another glance at the tags

Castiel can’t remember the last time he’s been on a date. It takes him all of Saturday to decide on an outfit and think about every relationship failing he’s ever had to figure out that he’s _terrified_ of dating Dean. Of course it’s scary for a plethora of reasons; Dean is a single dad, Claire is a young impressionable child, Dean has a dangerous job, Dean is - single handedly - the most attractive person to even breathe the same air as Castiel. 

Dean is colors and Castiel is static.

It’s reasonable to be scared shitless.

 _But_ , Castiel thinks to himself.

But Dean still sees something worthwhile in him, sees something worth trying.

So Castiel clings to that.

On Sunday morning Castiel sends Dean his address, unsure when Dean is planning on picking him up. On his motorcycle. To drive God knows where for God knows what length of time. That’s x-amount of time spent riding behind Dean with his arms wrapped around his waist, chest to back--

Castiel shakes his head, staring down at the tshirt in his hands. Morosely he realizes he doesn’t have any leather to wear, so he should probably wear a long sleeve over his tshirt to try and garner as much safety and cushion as possible. He shuffles around a bit and gets dressed, staring at the clock; he’d sent his address to Dean at around nine, and it’s nearing ten, and Castiel has been waiting for Dean to arrive so they can have a cup of coffee together.

Cheesy and maybe a bit hopeful, but Castiel enjoys their tradition of Sunday cuppas.

He double checks his apartment to make sure that it’s in order. Cleared of clutter, laundry done, dish rack empty. Everything looks good and he leans his hip against the counter in the kitchen, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes idly. 

Balthazar, the asshole, had mentioned that Castiel has been single during his entire employment at Sandover. Fifteen years. Before then, Castiel really, _really_ has to think hard about whether or not he’d dated anyone since college. He’d had a fling with a guy during his senior year, which had surmounted to nothing more than losing his virginity to a guy who promised to be gentle with him, but other than that, Castiel has the dismal realization that he’s… been single his entire life.

He has literally no dating experience.

Especially since he’s spent a lot of time desperately dodging all of Balthazar’s attempts to ‘fix him up’ with various people around the office. 

Wonderful. He resists the urge to sob deliriously under his breath as he pushes away from the counter so he can walk towards the living room where he fully intends on curling up on the couch with a pillow and ten blankets to try and pretend like he’s not such a pathetic human being. He’s a foot away from the sweet heaven that is his couch when his doorbell rings and anxiety immediately spikes in his chest, his toe connecting with the leg of the coffee table painfully. Wincing, he takes a few limping steps before sucking it up, making his way to the door and looking through the peephole.

Dean’s gorgeous even in fisheye.

Unlocking the door and opening it, Castiel feels anxious but he also feels happiness trying to stomp it down. Dean causes all sorts of foreign emotions to battle in his chest all at the same time and it never fails to wind Castiel slightly. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean greets cheerfully. He’s wearing jeans, leather chaps, and a worn leather jacket that looks like it’s seen many rides. He steps in when Castiel moves to the side, and then holds up a slightly newer looking leather jacket. “Try this on.”

Castiel blinks in surprise, carefully taking the jacket from Dean’s hand. Very carefully he shrugs into it - the shoulders are a little broad and the waist a little narrow, but he’s able to zip it up over his shirts. 

“Awesome,” Dean says. “That don’t fit me anymore and I’ve been thinking about donating it, but it looks great on you.”

Castiel looks up at Dean. “You’re- giving this to me?” 

Dean grins and nods. “Gotta have a jacket to ride.”

Smoothing his palms down the front of the jacket, Castiel unzips it and feels his heart soaring. “Thank you, Dean. That’s very thoughtful of you.” He hasn't received many gifts; in fact, aside from this, the percolator currently sitting on his counter is the only thing he's been given. Both thoughtful things, and both from Dean. 

“Loosen up,” Dean says as he passes Castiel, a teasing tone to his voice as he bumps their shoulders. “Have you had coffee yet?”

Castiel shuts the front door, taking off the leather jacket and draping it over the couch before following Dean, who seems content to lead himself to the kitchen. “I was waiting for you.”

“Aw,” Dean grins. “You read my mind.” 

In Castiel’s quaint apartment it’s easy for Dean to familiarize himself with things. It’s a little odd for Castiel to take a seat at his table and watch as Dean busies himself loading up the percolator and plugging it in. Thankfully Castiel organizes things very carefully, so it doesn’t take Dean long to find the sugar on the counter or the creamer in the fridge. As the percolator bubbles Dean takes up residence in the seat across from Castiel, and the older man notes mentally that the smile hasn’t left his lips the entire time. 

“How was your week?”

Bless him, really. Dean is always asking how Castiel’s day or week went, no matter when they talk or see each other. No matter if Castiel has sent him dozens of texts complaining about Crowley, or Balthazar; no matter if Dean has had his own fair share of “you won’t believe what trouble Claire got into today” - Dean always takes the time to ask. 

Castiel knows he asks because by the time they get together, Castiel forgets about all of the inane problems of the week.

He has a sneaking suspicion it’s the same for Dean. 

So the answer is always the same, although worded a bit differently each time as Castiel replies, “Good, now.” He flexes his toes a little, the big one still a little sore from knocking into the coffee table. “Where is Claire today?”

“With Jo,” Dean says. “It’s her week so I dropped Claire off on my way here.”

Castiel nods. He’s still a little antsy about all of this, and the reminder of Jo - and Claire - sort of brings him back to his earlier worries. Against his will, his mouth starts saying, “I appreciate that we are going on a date today, Dean. And I understand that dates won’t be a luxury we have often in the future, given your profession as well as taking care of Claire. So I do hope that you aren’t under the impression that I need to be- to be-” he can’t find the right word, his brain already screaming at him to shut up, “- _wooed_ , because I am already quite ensnared by you, without theatrics.”

“Uh,” Dean looks as blindsided as Castiel feels. But he ends up chuckling and shaking his head, sending Castiel a fond, warm look after a beat. “That’s actually really good to hear, Cas. It’s been so long since I’ve dated anyone, I’m not really looking for something… casual.” He says his words carefully, like it’s the first time these thoughts have crossed his mind. “I don’t wanna scare you away or anything, but I really am looking for something serious. Long term. Claire really likes you and that’s important to me, but dating a dude with a kid comes with a lot of baggage and less than ideal scenarios.” 

“I’m well aware,” Castiel replies. “I’m not under the impression that things will go without a hitch.” His gaze drops to the table as the percolator’s bubbling slows to a stop. “I suppose I am… unsure as to why you would be looking for a future with me.”

Dean snorts, and that wasn’t the reaction Castiel was expecting. Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s again and Dean is sending him an amused look, the corner of his lip curled to show off the dimple in his cheek. “Cas. You fishin’ for compliments?”

Castiel feels his cheeks heat up. “No, not at all-”

“I’ve already told you why I like you.” Dean says, plain but not unkind. “An’ I really think you fit well into my life. That’s what I’ve been looking for. I’m sick of first dates and flowers and pipe dreams that all crumble apart when people can’t handle my profession or my parenting. From the very beginning, Cas, you’ve just… fit.”

Castiel’s heart thuds against his chest. He stands up, moving to the percolator for something to occupy himself with as they talk - being open about anything is new and scary for him. There’s a reason why Balthazar usually goes away from their conversations empty handed and uninformed. Pulling down two coffee mugs, he speaks without looking at Dean. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship.”

Those words are met with silence as Castiel fills the two mugs. He adds sugar and creamer to Dean’s, opening a drawer for a spoon to stir, and when he moves back to the table he still doesn’t meet the other man’s gaze. All of his anxieties are just flying out of him without permission and, well, might as well put them all out there. 

So Dean still has a chance to back out of this. 

He slides Dean’s mug over towards his side of the table, and twitches in surprise when Dean grabs his hand. 

“Cas,” Dean’s voice is soft. “What do I gotta do to convince you that I want this? That I want you?” 

Exhaling shortly, Castiel glances up into Dean’s earnest eyes. “You don’t need to convince me, Dean. I… I know you are being honest and forthcoming with me and your expectations. I am merely afraid that I will fall short.”

“Well, stop,” Dean chastises playfully, his toe connecting with Castiel’s shin gently under the table. “We’re gonna get together. We’re gonna fight. We’re gonna argue about stupid shit. We’re gonna have issues coming up with how to raise Claire together. You’re not gonna feel good enough sometimes, and sometimes I’m gonna feel like _I’m_ not good enough. And that’s just normal shit. But damn, Cas, since the day I saw you- I want all of that stupidity. With you.”  
Castiel’s cheeks are still flushed, darkening with every word that comes from Dean’s pretty mouth. He distractedly brings up his coffee mug for a sip, enjoying the warm liquid spilling over his tied tongue. After a few moments of silence Castiel puts his mug down, staring at the dark roast, feeling a smile fighting its way onto his lips. “I… want that all, too.” 

“Thank God,” Dean says, huffing out a little laugh. “Otherwise things were about to get really awkward.”

Castiel can’t help but laugh in reply, the tension broken just like that. They drink their coffee, Castiel stretching his legs out, socked feet twining between Dean’s bow legs, the conversation turning idle. It’s as domestic and comfortable as they usually get, maybe even more so since they’re on Castiel’s turf for once. Dean looks good in his kitchen. Well- Dean looks good in general, but Castiel is enjoying his presence a bit more than normal, the way the sun from the kitchen window hits his cheeks and his scent (cologne mixed with worn leather) permeates the air.

Soon their coffee mugs are empty and Castiel stands up to clear them away. In front of the sink he leans his hips against the counter slightly as he rinses the mugs and idly runs the sponge through them; suddenly Dean is crowded up against his back, hugging him from behind. It's quite intimate, considering they actually haven't really touched much outside of casual touches and hand holding. Castiel can’t help but lean back into him, a smile on his lips.

“Where are we going?” he asks. If he takes a bit longer than necessary to clean the mugs, Dean either doesn't notice or doesn't care, because he presses his forehead to the back of Castiel’s neck and hums.

“First I thought about taking you up to the family cabin. Then I thought about taking you to the river. Then I realized I have no idea where to go actually, I just, uh,” Dean seems to lose a little steam. “I just really wanna go on a ride with you.”

“What’s that saying? It's the journey, not the destination,” Castiel replies, feeling himself warm. “Anywhere would be fine, Dean. I'm looking forward to spending time with you.”

“Alone?” Dean hedges. His lips barely brush against Castiel’s skin, causing the slightly smaller man to shiver.

“Alone. As well as in general.” Castiel finally puts the clean mugs on the dish rack and then squirms a little to turn in Dean’s embrace. “Claire is gone all week?”

“Mhm,” Dean allows Castiel to shuffle around and then noses into Castiel’s neck, unperturbed. 

“And when are you going to be busy again?” Castiel has no idea what Dean actually does, as a motorcycle racer. It's probably not nine-to-five, and Dean is pretty much always available when Castiel texts him so Castiel has been under the impression that Dean isn't kept too busy. He allows his hands to rest on Dean’s waist, unsure as to where he should be putting them. It’s been too long since he’s been held like this, touched like this. 

“Wednesday is my next race,” Dean says, the low pitch of his voice rumbling over Castiel’s skin, “so I've got tomorrow to spare and Tuesday for ghost rides.”

“So we could, tentatively,” Castiel licks his lips a little nervously, staring up at the ceiling, fingers twitching against Dean’s leather jacket. “Have a night?” He can’t remember the last time he’s called into work - can’t remember the last time he had a reason to. Not with his impeccable immune system and lack of romantic life, in any case.

Dean pulls away, eyes searching Castiel’s features. “Cas, we don't gotta do anything like that.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, even though his belly swoops. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Dean. Spending the night together doesn't need to involve anything other than sleeping.”

Dean grins warmly, “Just wanna let you know that you don't gotta feel pressured for anything.”

“I hardly feel that way at all,” Castiel says. “I like you, Dean.”

Dean brightens, like it's the first time Castiel is saying it. “I like you too, Cas.”

“So, with all of that out of the way,” Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s chest to gently push and get some space. Dean, thankfully, doesn't seem bothered and just smiles fondly at Castiel. “A night in a cabin in the woods sounds lovely.” Taking an extended weekend for the first time in… ever, sounds especially lovely. 

“Awesome,” Dean says.

At Dean’s urging Castiel packs a change of clothes and a few toiletries. He grabs the leather jacket off of the back of the couch and follows Dean out, locking up behind him. Shrugging it on, he doesn’t miss the way Dean’s gaze trails over him for a lingering second before they head towards the elevator. Castiel lives on the second floor so it’s a quick ride; outside the weather is perfect, a cool sixty-five-and-sunny, and Castiel’s eyes fall onto the bike that Dean’s walking towards.

Dean helps Castiel put his things into the saddlebags and then swings himself on, picking up a helmet and handing it towards the older man. Castiel takes it and puts it on and tries not to blush when Dean reaches up to clasp the fastenings for him, fingers brushing over stubble, and as Castiel settles himself behind Dean, he feels his heart rate calming, oddly. Dean dons his helmet and turns the key, revving the engine. A quick glance down and Castiel has his feet in the proper footholds, his hands on Dean’s waist. They start moving and Castiel’s stomach flips a little but then calms immediately, the ride surprisingly smooth, Dean’s handling of the motorcycle effortless.

Castiel isn’t sure how long they ride. He gets lost in the rumble of the bike underneath him, the feel of Dean’s solid and sure body between his knees, and the scenery that passes. For never having ridden on a motorcycle before he thought he’d be a bit more of a wreck; but as a whole Dean is calming, encompassing, and Castiel feels like he’s floating on air most of the time - not rolling along asphalt on two tires. After a while Castiel leans forward slightly, his chest against Dean’s back, his head turned to watch the countryside tumble by. The sun is warming him nicely but the whipping wind keeps him from overheating, and for a while he just… closes his eyes. Dean handles the bike like it’s an extension of him and there’s not a single instance where Castiel feels jarred. Not when they change lanes, not when they make turns, not even when they start winding through the forest.

Out here, like this, he forgets everything except the feeling of Dean and the motorcycle. He forgets that he hates his job, he forgets about his annoying coworkers, he forgets about his crappy apartment. He forgets about the anxieties of dating Dean, he forgets about Jo and Claire and how he worries about fitting into their lives. 

They don’t exchange a word. Castiel alternates between watching the road over Dean’s shoulder and watching the scenery, but eventually his body starts to feel a little sore. This isn’t a position he’s used to sitting in and his thighs are feeling a little achy, but he pushes the discomfort aside. When Dean turns down a dirt road that leads deep into the thick forest and slows down a little, Castiel surmises that they’re near the end of their little road trip, and feels himself torn between being thankful that soon he’ll get to stand, and being disappointed that he can’t spend more time tucked up to Dean like this. 

Ten minutes later and a cabin peeks out from the treeline. It’s quaint and well maintained, a bit of landscaping in the front, and when Castiel lets his gaze roam he sees the telltale glittering of a lake behind it. Dean pulls up to a stop and puts down the kickstand, waiting for Castiel to dismount first before he follows. They take their helmets off and Dean looks… _ravishing_. Castiel loses his breath when he takes in Dean’s pleasantly flushed cheeks, glittering eyes, and helmet hair. 

“Whaddya think?” Dean asks.

Castiel has to remember how to speak. “That was very enjoyable,” he says honestly, instead of allowing compliments to vomit from his mouth. Putting his helmet down on the seat of the bike next to Dean’s he glances around, curious. “Do you own this cabin?” Good subject change. Castiel is sure, if given the opportunity, he could go on for hours about how good Dean looks fresh from a leisurely ride.

“One of my very first investments with my winning money,” Dean says proudly. “Nothin’ relaxes me more than being out here.”

“It’s wonderful,” Castiel replies, already feeling that telltale sense of calm washing over him. He’s starting to associate these good feelings with the man standing next to him. It’s… amazing. 

Together he and Dean empty the saddlebags; Castiel hides his smile when he sees that Dean had packed some food in a small cooler, and suddenly has the feeling that Dean may have been hoping Castiel would choose to go to the cabin. Inside is one room; a queen size bed in the back corner, a kitchenette opposite with a eat-in table, and a living space comprised of one comfy looking couch, a recliner, and a large bookshelf that takes up almost the entire wall, stuffed to the brim with books. Dean puts their clothing down on the bed and then makes his way to the kitchenette, putting the perishable food in the fridge and then opening a few cupboards to check around. 

Castiel takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on a coat rack, and then after a second also takes off his long sleeved shirt to leave him in a tshirt and jeans. 

“D’you like to fish?” Dean asks.

“I’ve never done it,” Castiel replies, “but I would like to try.” 

Dean grins. “Awesome.” He pulls something out of a cupboard and Castiel barely has any time to react before the man tosses him an aerosol can. “Load up. Mosquitoes out here are hungry.”

Castiel dutifully spritzes himself with the bug spray, careful to get the back of his neck, ears, wrists and ankles. He breezes it over the rest of himself, including his clothes, knowing he’ll get used to the acrid smell sooner than later. He joins Dean in the kitchenette, setting the can on the counter. Dean is busy packing beer into a cooler, and then he spritzes himself, and sends Castiel a grin. 

“Alright. Let’s get this party started.” 

The walk down to the lake is only a few minutes, a well-worn path leading the way. It’s barely downhill but just enough that Castiel watches his step. There’s a small shed in the treeline and that’s where Dean goes first, pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the small padlock. 

“Hold this?” Dean implores, holding the cooler out to Castiel. Castiel takes it without complaint, turning to look at the lake. It’s small, perhaps fifty meters across - maybe more of a large pond, than an actual lake. The surface is smooth as glass and it looks like Dean’s dock is the only one on it; Dean grabs Castiel’s attention by letting out a triumphant noise, coming out of the shed brandishing two fishing poles.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to catch dinner,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean just grins at him as he starts heading towards the dock, where there are two wooden chairs bolted down at the end. Castiel sets the cooler between them and sits when Dean gestures for him to do so, turning a curious eye towards Dean who pulls a small styrofoam container out of the cooler.

Castiel wrinkles his nose, “You kept the worms with our beer?”

“At least I didn’t have food in there,” Dean argues playfully.

Settling back in the chair, Castiel watches as Dean baits each pole with a squirmy worm. He holds out one of the rods for Castiel to take; Castiel stands, feeling a little ridiculous. “What if I accidentally hook your eye?”

Dean laughs, “Man, one time me n’ Sammy were camping back home with the family when we were kids, and on the wind up I managed to hook his ear. Mom had a fit, but Sam thought it was really cool and asked her if he could get his ears pierced when we got back to town.” Dean talks while he shows Castiel where to pinch the line against the rod. “F’ course, Sammy never ended up getting his ears pierced, ‘cause mom wouldn’t let him.”

Castiel is torn between listening to Dean’s rich laughter and watching his fingers show Castiel’s where to go, and he ends up accidentally losing the line and dunking his worm in the water. Dean just grins and patiently shows him again what he’s supposed to do, and together they cast out their lines. Dean’s goes considerably farther than Castiel’s, but doesn’t say anything as they sit down in the chairs. Holding the handle of the rod between his knees Dean reaches into the cooler, this time to get them beers, using his ring to pop off the caps. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says softly as he takes the bottle from Dean. “If this tastes like worms I reserve the right to pour it in your lap.”

Dean barks out a surprised laugh, but nods in concession. They drink and sit in silence for a short while, before Dean speaks up, his playful mood sobering a little. “I’ve uh. Never brought anyone up here.” 

“That’s unfortunate for Claire,” Castiel replies, his voice serious but his eyes twinkling as he glances over at Dean. 

Dean huffs and rolls his eyes, his lips quirking. “I mean- anyone I’ve dated. Jeez, you’re an ass.” 

“I’ve been told a time or two,” Castiel commends. He takes another sip of his beer. “Is that what Claire meant when she said this was your special place?”

“I guess,” Dean is staring at where his bob is buoying minutely on the water, his features soft. “Since I bought it, Claire’s actually been the only one to come up here with me. Not even Jo or my brother.”

Castiel’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Oh.” He’s unsure as to how he should reply to something like that, feeling as though Dean is laying himself bare. 

“I just,” Dean lifts a hand to scrub over his mouth, “Like I said: things have been real easy with you. And I’m sure it’ll get complicated at some point but it just uh. Feels kinda… right. To bring you up here.” 

“Dean,” Castiel says softly, touched. “Thank you. You have shown me immense trust and I am not quite sure what I did to deserve it, but I will do my best to honor it.”

Dean turns his emerald gaze over to Castiel, regarding him thoughtfully. His expression is open, warm, _fond_ , and then, “This ain’t the eighteen-hundreds, Cas. Relax a little.” 

Castiel squints. “I have been told my manner of speaking is quite pleasant.”

Dean rolls his eyes a little. “One of these days I’ll get you to fuck up that pretty mouth of yours.”

Castiel blinks a few times, Dean’s words swirling deep within him. Dean seems to, belatedly, realize what he said, his cheeks flushing darkly and a rattly laugh leaving his lips.

“Shit- not exactly what I meant, but also not entirely wrong.” He says, picking up his beer by the neck to take a deep drink, like there isn’t any sexual tension suddenly filling the air. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Castiel says, even though he’s smiling wider than he has in quite some time. Smiling wide in only a way that Dean can make him. 

“I’ve been told a time or two,” Dean parrots Castiel’s earlier words back at him with a snarky grin.

Castiel’s pole rattles between his legs. He glances down at it, body freezing in suspense; it rattles again, and out on the water his bob dips beneath the surface.

“You got one!” Dean says in a loud whisper. “Ok- let it nibble a bit.” Castiel grabs his rod with one hand, the trembling fingers of his other hand on the reel. “Yeah, just like that. Let it get a nice, good bite. The bob should go down totally if we got it.” The bob disappears entirely under the water, and then Dean claps Castiel on the shoulder. “Reel it in! Slow- slow- yeah! Give your rod a tug. Yes. Oh man-”

Castiel stands up so he can properly reel in the fish, and when he gets it out of the water he’s surprised at the size of it. Dean stands up as well, reaching out to grab the line and hold up the fish so he can examine it. 

“Awesome, this is one we can keep. Fuck yeah, Cas,” Dean praises. He glances up at Castiel with a wolfish smile. “Now you’re really gonna hate me.”

Castiel sends him a quizzical look. “Why?”

“Empty the cooler and fill it up with some lakewater,” Dean instructs. “Gotta lock this bad boy up.” 

“Gross, Dean,” Castiel complains. Even still, he puts the handle of the rod in the cupholder of the chair and then takes the other two beers out of the cooler, setting them on the dock before he kneels so he can get a few inches of lakewater in the bottom of the container. When he sets it down Dean unhooks the fish and tosses it in, Castiel quickly closing the lid, and then stands up with a huff. “You don’t have a special cooler?”

“I do,” Dean says, “but I forgot it, and it’s really fun to make you mad.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Well, one fish isn’t going to feed us. Catch up.”

“Hey tiger, watch it,” Dean laughs. He sits down and picks up his abandoned pole, the smile on his features rivaling the afternoon sun beating down on them. 

Castiel returns to his seat as well, although he doesn’t recast, deciding to lean back and soak up some of the sun. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt into a makeshift tank top and then takes off his shoes and socks, fully intent on relaxing, and arches a brow when he catches Dean watching him. “May I help you?”

Dean sends him a wry smile, “Just enjoying the show.”

Castiel snorts, bending to start rolling up the cuffs of his jeans to expose more of his ankles. “Ah, yes. Well, you may not know it just by looking at me, but exotic lakeside stripping is my specialty.” He plucks at the front of his tshirt, “It costs extra to see nipples, though.” 

Dean’s barking laugh echoes across the lake before bouncing back at them. “Aw shucks, I forgot my wallet up at the cabin.”

“I accept rainchecks,” Castiel says, feeling himself relax exponentially with the combination of the sun, the serene lake, and Dean’s warm laughter. 

Silence falls over them, punctuated only by the sound of them bringing beers to their lips for drinks. After they run out of beer and Dean hasn’t had any more luck they decide to pack it up, Castiel teasing Dean about how he didn’t catch anything, and Dean grumbling about beginner’s luck. Dean takes the fishing poles and the cooler and Castiel gathers up the empty bottles, following Dean off the dock and up onto the shore. Dean locks away the fishing poles and then falls into step next to Castiel as they head up to the cabin. Inside Dean sets the cooler on the counter, dumps the empty bottles into the recycle bin, and then sends Castiel an eager, devilish smile.

“Wanna learn how to gut a fish?”

Castiel presses his lips together. “Something tells me that even if I say no, you’re going to show me anyway.” 

Dean sends Castiel finger guns, “You betcha. C’mere.” 

Working together in the tiny kitchenette is a blessing and a curse. On the one hand they’re sharing body heat, brushing up against one another as they move, Dean’s fingers guiding Castiel by the hand or wrist as he shows him how to properly cut open the fish and work on deboning it. It’s familiar, comfortable. On the other hand, they’re almost _too_ close, and Castiel feels his heart rate pick up exponentially every time they touch. For only holding hands, barely even hugging, and definitely not kissing - Castiel feels himself losing a bit of his grip. He keeps thinking ‘this is it’ whenever Dean turns to him; keeps thinking that Dean is going to give in first, kiss him first, hold him first. Thankfully the fish stinks to high heaven so Castiel doesn’t get too lost in the goings-on of his frantic brain, and he’s definitely grateful that Dean really does seem intent on respecting Castiel’s boundaries and going at his pace. 

Even if that pace is starting to frustrate Castiel, himself.

Once they get the fish all cleaned up they take turns washing their hands in the sink, and then Dean rummages around the freezer. He procures some frozen hash browns and a bag of mixed veggies, explaining that he comes out at least once a month and is always replenishing frozen goods for occasions such as these.

As they make their way onto the small back patio, Dean tosses Castiel a grin over his shoulder. “Next time I’ll be a bit more prepared and we can haul up some fresh produce.”

“This will be fine,” Castiel says. If Dean wanted to roast hot dogs over a fire, Castiel wouldn’t have a single complaint in him. Up here is… incredible. It’s very secluded and quiet and peaceful and serene and… _intimate_ in a way Castiel has never experienced before. Fifteen years at a desk job will do that to a person. It’s also a big help that he finds Dean’s company incredibly pleasant. 

Dean gestures for Castiel to sit at the picnic table, and Castiel brushes away some pine needles before having a seat on the bench, facing Dean, his back resting against the table’s edge. He watches the younger man mess around with the grill, and by the time smoke starts puffing up and filtering through the air, Castiel has an arm resting against the table as he watches a pair of squirrels chase each other in the trees. Dean disappears inside and comes back out with a pair of fresh beers wet with condensation, popping the caps off and sitting down next to Castiel while the coals heat up.

“So,” Dean prompts, back against the table, knees spread, the bottom of his beer resting on his left thigh as he regards Castiel, who is now straddling the bench. “You said you’ve never been in a relationship before. Like- do you mean… Ever?” 

Castiel figures he has nothing to be shy about. He shrugs, resting his beer on the bench between his thighs. “Ever. By the time I graduated college and had messed around with someone, I got hired on at Sandover in a position much higher than I applied for. I’ve been a person with a sort of one track mind… so I threw myself into work without thinking twice.”

“No whirlwind office romances?” Dean asks, his tone teasing but his eyes genuinely curious. 

“Balthazar tried setting me up with a coworker,” Castiel admits, glancing down at his beer as he idly starts peeling the label from the damp glass. “I’ve never really had the desire to date anyone in the office, though. I’m not a fan of the local gossip wheel.” 

“So you decide to date a famous motorcycle racer, instead?” Dean asks wryly, bringing the bottle up to his lips. 

“To be fair, I had no idea who you were,” Castiel replies easily. “I thought you were happily married and very uninterested in men, remember?”

Dean chuckles. “Did you read my Wikipedia page?”

Castiel flushes. “Not- all the way.”

“But you did read it,” Dean says, a tone of satisfaction in his voice. Smug bastard. 

“The television in the breakroom was airing your race a few days after we met,” Castiel explains. “I Googled you in a moment of weakness.”

“So then you knew what I did for a living when you came to the roadhouse?” Dean asks, and there’s amusement in his voice, which is calming Castiel’s anxieties. He doesn’t know how he’d handle Dean being disappointed in him for any reason whatsoever.

“I did,” Castiel says, “but I knew there had to be a good reason for you not telling me.”

Dean nods, chewing his lip and standing up. “Superstition is kind of a stupid reason though, innit?” 

Castiel watches Dean tear off tinfoil to place the fish on. “I don’t think any less of you for being superstitious, Dean.”

“No?” Dean sends Castiel an amused, if slightly guarded smile. “S’not weird? Or… immature?”

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

The sound of the tinfoil crinkling as Dean wraps up the fish fills the ensuing silence. Once Dean has everything on the grill he closes the lid and turns around, his features a bit more relaxed and open as he returns to sit next to Castiel.

“Thanks,” Dean says. “I uh. I really love the sport, y’know? And being an ‘athlete’,” he makes finger quotes, “kinda turns anyone into a superstitious fool. It's part of the culture. Lotta people don't really understand it.”

“Oh, I don't understand it at all,” Castiel says simply. “But if it's something you believe in, then I respect that.”

Dean’s eyes twinkle a little as he regards Castiel. “You're really somethin’, you know that?”

Castiel smiles wryly, his heart skipping a beat. “I think I'm beginning to understand.”

The rest of the evening goes in easy, quiet, companionship. The food is delicious, even if Dean insists that next time he’ll have “real, fresh food” to wow Castiel with, and as they clean up and make sure all the trash is taken care of, they decide to head down to the lake for some stargazing. They dress in layers and walk down towards the dock to occupy their fishing chairs, the lake smooth as glass and the crickets chirping happily in the water weeds. Dean scoots their chairs together and after they sit he drapes the blanket in his hands over both of their laps, Castiel smiling fondly at the boyfriend-ly gesture. He kind of feels like a teenage girl, but he also kind of loves it.

Tipping his head back, Castiel looks up at the sky and can’t help but let out a surprised noise, a short breath leaving his parted lips. The stars are expansive and endless, the sky clear of clouds, the moon hung against the backdrop prettily. The treeline isn’t too high but it adds a beautiful, jagged edge to the base of the stars and Castiel absorbs it all with his mouth slightly agape. 

“When’s the last time you saw the stars, city boy?” Dean asks, his voice teasing, but a warmth spreading through his words. Castiel loves the tone of Dean’s voice when he’s teasing him. 

“I can’t remember,” Castiel says honestly, thinking about it. A few moments of searching has him letting out a little hum, “The last time I was out in nature was when I was in that… camp.” 

“Oh,” Dean lets out a breath.

Castiel glances over to Dean and reaches to put his hand over the other’s, squeezing his wrist gently. “Don’t react that way. In fact, the best part of that camp was being able to stargaze. Castiel returns his gaze to the sky, his hand unmoving from where it rests on Dean’s. “I just am suddenly rethinking every decision I’ve made that has kept me away from this beauty since then.”

Dean’s hand turns in Castiel’s grip, their fingers lacing together. “You should take a vacation.”

Castiel snorts. “Crowley would have an aneurysm.”

“Fuck Crowley,” Dean says, a bit of heat to his voice. “Honestly, you’ve worked for that company forever and haven’t asked for anything in return.”

“You mean other than a steady paycheck and a pension?” Castiel asks dryly, even though he sort of loves Dean getting defensive for him. 

“You know what I mean,” Dean says, the frustration in his voice softened by a chuckle leaving his lips. “Tomorrow will be the first time you’ve called out in how long?”

“I… can’t remember,” Castiel says. “I have an impeccable immune system and have never had to miss work for anything.”

“Lucky,” Dean laughs a bit louder this time. “Having a kid means I’m constantly surrounded by all sorts of scary germs. I catch a cold a few times a year no matter how many vitamins I take.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Castiel says, nose wrinkling slightly. Then, “I suppose being around the two of you more will either grant you herd immunity, or make me catch my first cold in twenty years.”

“Trust me,” Dean turns a grin towards Castiel. His eyes shine brighter than the stars. “Soon you’ll be carrying a pack of tissues in your glovebox.” 

Caught in Dean’s gaze, Castiel nods, and he thinks he says, “You’re probably right”, but he’s not entirely sure because Dean boldly leans forward, without prompting, and gently brushes their nose together in an innocent, sweet nuzzle. Castiel’s eyes fall closed and he lets out a slow breath, feeling it bounce off of Dean’s chin and back towards him, letting him know that Dean hasn’t moved out of his space. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly.

Castiel opens his eyes. “Hm?” 

The corners of Dean’s eyes crinkle beautifully, “You’re pretty awesome.”

Castiel feels his lips spreading in a smile. “And you, Dean, are pretty ‘awesome’,” he lifts his free hand for finger quotes, “yourself. Even if sometimes you talk like a sixteen year old boy.” 

Dean puffs his chest a little, the grin on his lips crooked and highlighting the dimple of his left cheek. “I’m told that part of me is charming.” 

“There are plenty more charming things about you,” Castiel says, his smile widening a bit. He can’t help it. Dean’s good moods are infectious, his laughter filling, his smiles satiating. 

Dean is still close enough for Castiel to smell his aftershave, “You’re gonna have to make me a list.”

“That’s rather narcissistic of you,” Castiel replies, his eyes dipping towards Dean’s mouth to take in the curve of his smile, the straight lines of his teeth. 

“What if I said I wanted you to make me that list so you could read it to me?” Dean asks, his voice softening and lowering slightly. 

Castiel’s gaze flicks up towards Dean’s. “Why would I read it to you?”

“Because your voice,” Dean reminds Castiel that their hands are still joined by giving Castiel’s a squeeze, his thumb brushing over the backs of Castiel’s knuckles, “is… amazing.”

Castiel arches a single brow. “Is that so?”

“You can’t tell me no one’s ever told you that,” Dean says, voice a little incredulous. He leans out of Castiel’s space a bit, his free hand reaching up to ruffle the longer hair on top of his head, a sheepish smile overtaking his features. “‘Cause I mean- it is. Your voice…” he trails off a little, gazing out at the lake, biting his lower lip. 

Feeling daring, Castiel shifts so he leans closer to Dean, their shoulders pressing together warmly. This puts his mouth close to Dean’s ear and he purposely drops his voice as low as he can comfortably make it, murmuring, “...does things to you?”

A full body shudder wracks through Dean’s frame and Castiel sees his lashes flutter slightly before the man lets out a slightly strangled laugh, his hand dropping from his head to pull the collar of his sweatshirt away from his neck slightly. “Uh- yeah.” 

“I see,” Castiel returns his voice to normal, and also resumes sitting in his chair comfortably, a bit of space between their bodies now. Interesting that he has that effect on Dean, with just his voice alone. Everything between them has been PG, very chaste while they navigate through the complicated world of being adults with careers - which is only made more challenging with a child in the picture. Not that Castiel would change a thing, but he also never envisioned himself going after a single dad. In any case, this is their first real opportunity to be ‘alone’, and therefore their first real opportunity to explore the… depths of their budding relationship.

They fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence. Dean is still stroking over the skin of Castiel’s hand gently with his thumb, and Castiel enjoys the hypnotizing rhythm as he tilts his head back to look up at the stars. After a few moments Dean pulls out his phone and opens up an app, explaining to Castiel that out here where there’s no light pollution, so many stars, planets, and constellations are visible. They spend about twenty minutes pointing the phone up to the sky and pointing out constellations on the screen and then trying to find them with their naked eye, their heads close together until they’re eventually leaning on one another. A chilly breeze sweeps across the surface of the lake and makes Dean let out a surprised noise accompanied by a shiver, and that’s when they decide to call it a night.

After putting the chairs back in their proper place Dean wraps Castiel up in the blanket, despite the fact that they’re heading back because _Dean_ got cold first. The trek back to the cabin is short and sweet and once they’re inside Castiel watches as Dean puts a few logs in the small wood stove, lighting a fire easily, the glow welcoming and calming. 

“Uh, obviously there’s only one bed,” Dean says, gesturing towards the bed tucked into the corner. 

“Which is fine,” Castiel assures him. “You don’t need to be shy with me, Dean.”

Dean bristles a little, cheeks flushing. “‘M not bein’ _shy_ -”

“Mhm,” Castiel says, walking towards the bed. He takes the blanket off his shoulders and lays it over top the quilt, before reaching up to start taking off his long sleeved shirt. “It sounds like you’re being shy.”

Dean closes the grate to the stove, the soft creak of the swing almost drowning out his reply of, “Whatever.”

Castiel strips down to his tshirt and boxers without a thought - they’re both adults, there’s no reason to make this weird. Besides, they are… dating? Technically? After their discussion in Castiel’s kitchen this morning it’s hard to mistake their relationship for anything else. So, in that case, they’re likely going to be seeing much more of each other, in more compromising positions, with less clothes.

Oh. Isn’t that a thought?

As Dean approaches the bed and reaches up to pull off his sweatshirt, Castiel suddenly realizes it’s himself that is probably being shy and coy… not Dean. Because Castiel averts his eyes immediately, resolutely avoiding watching the sliver of stomach that peeks out from Dean’s shirt as he lifts his sweatshirt over his head. Castiel crawls into the bed first, sliding under the heavy blankets and stretching his body out. They’ll be nice and toasty between the blankets and with the heat of the stove floating through the small space. Dean strips down to a tank top and boxers and detours from the bed so he can flick off the one overhead light. There’s a glow from the fire sprawling through the small space, casting all sorts of shadows over everything, and Dean is a silhouette as he joins Castiel in the bed. 

They shift until they’re lying facing one another; Castiel’s head is resting comfortably on his pillow, and Dean has one arm tucked up under his own pillow to prop himself up a little bit. Castiel can’t make out the features of his face, but Dean’s eyes are bright as they regard Castiel. 

“Y’know,” Dean says, his voice soft. Being suddenly swathed in darkness and warmth has a different mood settling over them, heavier than the blankets over their bodies, “I don’t think I’ve ever… been this into anyone.” 

Castiel can’t help but feel his lips tug up slightly. “I had no idea you were into pillow talk. This might be a deal breaker. I take my sleep very seriously.”

He can feel Dean’s eye roll as the other man settles down more comfortably. “Shaddup. Let me express my _feelings_.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says, his body scooting a bit closer. The intimacy settling between them is sinking deep into his bones, his gut, his heart. “Please, tell me more.” 

He thinks Dean is squinting, probably trying to decide whether or not Castiel is actually going to allow him to talk without being a dick. Apparently he figures it’s ok to talk, because he starts speaking again, his voice still soft. “I’ve uh. Never shared a bed like this.”

A dry retort is on the tip of Castiel’s tongue, but he swallows it and instead asks, “What do you mean, ‘like this’?”

“Like… without expectations,” Dean says. “I mean- y’know. _Obviously_ I’ve shared beds with people but it’s always been with an ulterior motive. Bing bang boom, let’s go to the bedroom and have sex.”

“Ah,” Castiel says, understanding dawning on him. “So you’re saying you’ve never just… slept with someone to sleep with them?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice sounds a little… timid? 

Castiel reaches out, his palm finding Dean’s hip under the blankets. Warmth seeps into his skin through Dean’s tank top, and Castiel scoots a tiny bit closer. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t even sleep with the guy I messed around with in college. We had sex, and then I left. I’ve never,” he licks his lips, “slept in the same bed as someone before.”

“We’re idiots,” Dean says with a small laugh. His body shifts towards Castiel’s. “Is it selfish of me to be, like, thankful that this is all a first for you? ‘Cause I am. I wanna… I wanna be your first lots of things.”

Feeling his heart flutter, Castiel tries to stay casual as he nods. “I want that too, Dean.” 

“Cool,” Dean breathes. “Can we-” Dean squirms slightly, shifting even closer. “Can we spoon? I want- I wanna be the little spoon.” 

Smiling a bit broader, Castiel feels his heart swoop down into his belly. Dean puts on big bravado in day to day life. He’s a famous motorcycle racer, a single dad, very successful and independent. He takes care of his loved ones without asking for anything in return and always seems to be in control of the situation. But right here, right now, bathed in the glow of the fire and under the vastness of the night sky, Castiel understands the gravity of Dean’s words. This is Dean allowing Castiel into the part of his heart that he keeps closed off from everyone else. This special place that has yet to be touched or explored. So Castiel scoots forward and moves his other arm to grab at Dean, helping him move towards him and rotate over until Dean’s back is against Castiel’s chest. Dean is slightly taller, but Castiel likes how his knees fit in the bend of Dean’s legs, likes how it puts his nose in the curve of Dean’s neck. They both let out a slow exhale, Dean carefully adjusting their pillows so both of their heads rest comfortably, and Castiel feels all of the tension bleed out of Dean’s body almost immediately. 

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs softly, his lips brushing against Dean’s skin. 

“Mm?” Dean hums in reply. 

“Whatever you need, I will be happy to provide. Please don’t ever be afraid to ask me for anything.” 

Dean pats around with his hand until he finds one of Castiel’s, lacing their fingers and resting their palms against the cradle of his belly. A few quiet seconds pass, before Dean says quietly, “Thanks, Cas.”

They fall asleep tangled in one another, and for the first time in a long time - maybe ever - Castiel feels not a single worry in his bones.

\--

In the morning they’re still tangled with one another, but Castiel wakes up because he’s _hot_. The fire died sometime in the night but the heat remained trapped under their blankets and Castiel wakes up with a tacky layer of sweat on his skin and Dean’s legs tangled in his own. Which, while nice, ultimately makes the heat even worse. Dean’s got his head pillowed on Castiel’s right bicep, nose almost in Castiel’s armpit, both of his arms wrapped around Castiel’s torso. He’s clinging like a koala bear and while it’s very pleasant, it’s also stifling. Very carefully Castiel extracts himself from Dean so he can swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand, glancing down at where Dean curls into his empty spot, seeking out the warmth that just left him. 

Smiling softly to himself, Castiel heads to the counter where there’s a camper coffee pot. The idle task of preparing coffee is mundane, and he looks out the kitchen window towards the lake while he does it, feeling a different kind of warmth filtering through his veins. 

He just spent the night with Dean. An innocent night, but an… amazing night, nonetheless. Waking up with Dean in his arms, even though it was mildly uncomfortable, had been amazing. And watching Dean snooze on while Castiel shuffles around the kitchen is incredible. Domestic. Natural. _Perfect_.

While the coffee pot heats on the small stove Castiel grabs his toiletry bag and moves out the back door to head to the little outhouse just to the East of the property. When he had used it yesterday he had been shocked at how _nice_ it is; Dean had pulled all the stops, building it himself. It’s sanitary, it’s functional, and most importantly: it doesn’t smell. Inside Castiel relieves himself and then brushes his teeth in the sink, and by the time he returns to the kitchen the coffee is done. He puts his stuff back in his bags and then starts opening cupboards until he finds mugs. A quick glance in the fridge shows that Dean’s going to have to drink his coffee black, but at least Castiel finds a small canister of sugar. 

With the coffee poured and sugar stirred in, Castiel leaves the steaming mugs on the counter and then moves back towards the bed, where Dean has barely moved. He crawls on and lies down with Dean once more, gathering the man up in his arms, delighting in the way Dean immediately moves to burrow into him.

“Time is it?” Dean’s voice is gruff from sleep, and Castiel is surprised to learn he’s awake.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies. “I made coffee.” He lifts a hand to card through Dean’s slightly sweaty hair. “We’re gross.” 

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a little laugh, pulling away from Castiel so he can rub his eyes. “We should go for a swim.” His hand drops from his features and his gaze meets Castiel’s, an easy smile on his lips. “How’d you sleep?”

“Wonderfully,” Castiel says, his voice softening a bit. “You?”

“Best I have in a long, long while,” Dean says. He pulls away a little more so he can stretch from his fingers to his toes, rolling over onto his stomach so he can get up onto his knees. 

Castiel allows his eyes to drag over Dean’s form in the soft morning light. The tank top he’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination, his well-muscled arms on display and the toned lines of his stomach creating dips and rivets in the cotton. His thighs are deadly looking, thick and meaty, but his calves are a little on the slimmer side. Ultimately Dean is very, _very_ easy on the eyes and Castiel finds himself tearing his gaze away. He’s thankful that he runs frequently and eats healthy food, because he would hate feeling like a lesser man next to this Adonis. 

“A’right,” Dean whuffs and moves to get off the bed. “Gonna hit the head, then we’ll have some coffee. You want breakfast?”

Castiel shakes his head, “Not if we’re going to swim. We could eat after.”

“Good plan,” Dean commends. He steps into a pair of house slippers that he digs out from under the bed with his toes and then disappears out the back door without another word. 

Castiel smiles softly to himself as he gets out of bed to return to the kitchenette. He grabs their mugs off the counter and then sits at the table, thankful for the cushioned chairs, letting out a little hum of a sigh. He’s relaxed. He’s loose-limbed. His mind has zero anxious thoughts. This is strange and yet it’s so good, so right. Dean returns a few moments later looking much more refreshed and awake and he sits down opposite of Castiel, the pair of them starting to sip their coffee without exchanging words. It doesn’t take them long to chug down the life elixir, and when they do they get up and start moving around. Castiel finds the swim trunks he’d packed in the bottom of his bag and, checking to see Dean occupied with making sure that the fire in the stove had completely died out, he changes into them, leaving his tshirt on.

“Grab some towels from that cupboard,” Dean says, pointing to a little pantry next to the fridge. “Go on and head out. I’ll catch up.” 

Castiel nods, doing as Dean says and then making his way out the back door. He walks down the path without many thoughts in his head; the sound of nature around him, a soft breeze blowing, animals chattering, the crunch of twigs under his feet are all good ambience for him to just zone out and let his body carry him. There’s a small beach, definitely man-made, with soft white sands and groomed free of weeds, rocks, and debris. Castiel spreads out both towels and then takes off his shoes, enjoying the way his feet sink into the sand. Dean has really turned this place into a paradise. He earns extra points for it all being very clean and sanitary. 

As Castiel sits down on the towel he realizes belatedly that he doesn’t have any sunscreen. He’s saved by Dean, though, who flops down on his towel next to Castiel’s and holds out a small cloth bag towards the older man. 

“Here ya go.” 

Castiel takes the bag and peers inside, making a happy noise at seeing sunscreen, bug spray, two bottles of water, and a package of unsalted nuts to snack on. He pulls out the sunscreen at the same time his gaze turns towards Dean and he almost drops the bottle in surprise, heat blasting through his core.

First of all, Dean’s not wearing a shirt. His freckled, golden skin is on display, as well as his muscles, and Castiel’s mouth immediately goes dry. It should be illegal for someone to look that good and be so casual about it. 

Second of all, Dean’s swim shorts are _obscene_. Lifeguard red, the hemline so short Castiel can tell he’s not wearing underwear underneath them. As far as Castiel can tell Dean doesn’t have any tan lines, which lets Castiel know that when Dean is up here he usually spends his time in the sun _nude_ and oh, oh dear. Oh goodness.

Castiel rips his gaze away from Dean’s body before the other man notices. He flips the cap on the sunscreen and accidentally splurts way too much into his palm, but he rubs his hands together and then resolutely focuses on rubbing the lotion into his legs, first. It takes a while to get it all rubbed in, and in the meantime Dean has taken the bottle and started applying it to himself. Castiel looks down at his shirt and knows that he needs to take it off to swim, but he’s a little hesitant, and he must dawdle too long because Dean tosses the sunscreen into his lap, making Castiel huff in surprise. 

“Not gonna be very streamline if you swim with your shirt on, y’know,” Dean points out, and it sounds like he’s trying hard to not be teasing with his words. 

Castiel adjusts his position so he’s sitting criss cross, letting the sunscreen bottle rest against his ankles. He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up off of his body, setting it aside before he loses the nerve. He knows the first thing Dean registers is probably his faint farmer’s tan, but he definitely knows Dean sees the second, glaringly obvious reason as to why Castiel hadn’t removed his shirt until now.

The scars. 

No matter how fit and trim Castiel keeps his body, the scars have faded with time but they haven’t totally disappeared. They’re lashes all across his back, from his shoulder blades down to his tailbone, the result of firstly, his father finding out he’s gay, and secondly, his treatment at the camp he was forced to attend. There are even a few across his chest, tinier lashes, and Castiel keeps his gaze on the bottle of sunscreen, feeling his anxiety starting to spike. 

Next to him, Dean is quiet. Castiel closes his eyes, praying that he can find the strength to make some sort of joke about it - diffuse the situation in a manner that Dean can appreciate, but nothing comes. He’s not sure how many minutes pass, but when he feels Dean’s fingers trail over his skin, he jumps in surprise. His head turns to watch Dean, whose eyes are counting the scars, whose fingers are mapping each one, and Castiel feels his heart thundering in his chest. 

_Please… don’t think I’m ugly._

“Cas,” Dean says. He gets up on his knees on his towel and inches closer, his palm resting between Castiel’s shoulders, his free hand reaching to tilt Castiel’s head towards him, forcing their gazes to meet. There’s the smallest of smiles on Dean’s lips even if his eyes look a little haunted, and then he’s leaning forward, pressing the softest of kisses to Castiel’s forehead. “Let me put sunscreen on your back.”

Swallowing thickly, Castiel hands the bottle over to Dean, who shifts so he can move to kneel behind Castiel. Dean touches his body with such reverence, such adoration, and he rubs in the sunscreen and continues to rub Castiel’s skin even though Castiel is sure the lotion has all been absorbed. After a few minutes Dean wraps his arms around Castiel from behind, resting his forehead against the center of Castiel’s back.

“You know I think you’re gorgeous, right?” Dean says, his words almost drowned out by the sound of water breaking, a fish jumping in the distance. 

Castiel relaxes minutely, “I… do know.” 

“Good,” Dean says, and Castiel is sure he feels the man press a kiss to one of his longer scars, before he’s returning to his own towel. Dean’s smile has returned to its normal wattage, but his eyes carry a new fondness in them, and Castiel feels slightly winded at the way they sparkle. “Let’s sunbathe for a bit. The water feels way better when you’re hot.”

Castiel watches Dean lie down and close his eyes, like Castiel’s most shameful secret hadn’t just been exposed. He watches the rise and fall of Dean’s chest, lets his gaze travel over Dean’s body, and in his quiet admiration he sees scars on Dean’s skin. Some small, some larger. Likely motorcycle incidents. Castiel thinks about Dean’s reaction - what had he expected? Pity? Anger? 

Definitely not acceptance.

Castiel shifts so he can lie down as well, grabbing his shirt so he can lay it over his eyes to block out the sun. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering how he got so lucky to have Dean come into his life. Over the past month Castiel has found himself opening up, relaxing, doing things for himself without thinking about anything other than pursuing the happiness that Dean makes him feel. It’s been freeing. Exhilarating. 

It’s felt a lot like the motorcycle ride that brought them up here. 

Finding himself smiling, Castiel relaxes. 

After about ten minutes Dean complains about being hot, and they both get up so they can start wading into the water. Since the lake isn’t very large, it’s not terribly cold, but it’s still a bit shocking as they get deeper. When the water is at their waists Dean dives in head first, swimming out a few yards before turning and calling for Castiel to follow him. They decide to do one lap around the lake, staying close to the shallow end for rests, and Castiel didn’t think he’d enjoy doing something like this, let alone with someone else, but he finds that he loves it. The rushing, cooling water, the warmth of the sun, surrounded by nothing but nature, the nearest human miles away. It takes them the better part of an hour to complete their lap, and when they come out of the water they’re breathless and a little giggly. They lie out on their towels to dry off, and once their stomachs start growling, they pack up and head back up to the cabin. Dean prepares a simple lunch of grilled vegetables and rice, but he seasons everything deliciously and even makes his own teriyaki sauce. They sit on lawn chairs on the back deck of the cabin and watch the lake from the safety and shade of the trees, and then finally Dean suggests that they start to pack up so they can make it back to town before the sun sets.

Castiel agrees, still feeling relaxed and sated. Dean promises to bring him back to the cabin more in the future, and Castiel promises to take more long weekends so they can enjoy it just as thoroughly as they did today. Fully dressed and packed up they get on Dean’s motorcycle, strap on their helmets (Dean still helps Castiel with his, even though Castiel knows he can fasten it himself), and then settle in for the ride back to town. Relaxing into Dean, much more comfortable with physically touching him now, Castiel once again watches the scenery go by. Dean pulls into Castiel’s apartment complex and helps him gather his things, following Castiel up to his doorstep. 

They both enter the apartment so Castiel doesn’t fumble with the lock due to his hands being full, and Dean helps Cas put his belongings down on the couch. Once that’s settled they face each other and a slightly awkward, tense silence falls over them, Castiel unzipping his jacket while Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Dean,” Castiel says as he drapes his jacket over the back of his couch. 

“Yuh?” Dean snaps his attention to Castiel, cheeks flushed.

Castiel can’t help but smile. “If you would like to kiss me, by all means, please do.”

Dean rolls his eyes but he steps forward, putting his hands on Castiel’s hips and drawing the other man closer. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Sometimes,” Castiel says, enjoying the scent of pine and leather wafting off of Dean. 

“Good, I guess,” Dean chuckles, and then he leans in.

The first brush of lips is soft, chaste. Castiel’s stubble catches on Dean’s smooth upper lip and they both smile, their eyes falling shut as they fall closer to each other, lips slotting properly. Castiel hasn’t had many kisses in his life, but kissing Dean immediately jumps to the top of his list. Dean is soft, but comforting, and intoxicating. His whole body leans into it, his hands sliding around Castiel’s back to press him closer to Dean’s chest, head tilting, lips moving. It stays chaste, no tongue, and when Dean finally pulls away Castiel blinks his eyes open, dazed, feeling his skin flush from his ears down to his chest.

“Oh,” Castiel breathes.

Dean smiles, pressing another soft, chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips before pulling away. “Thanks.”

Castiel reaches up to touch his lips and replies, “You’re welcome.” 

Chuckling again, Dean grabs his helmet and turns to leave. At the door he turns as he opens it, so he can catch Castiel’s still slightly dazed gaze. “Watch the race on Wednesday?”

Castiel is pretty sure he looks ridiculous, the smile on his lips hazy, his eyes unfocused. “Of course, Dean.” 

Dean leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. 

Castiel lets a slightly hysteric laugh bubble up from his chest. 

He’s so screwed.

He’s falling so hard. 

He feels incredible.

\--

On Wednesday Castiel times his lunch so Dean’s race will be airing on the television while he eats. It’s much different than the first time Castiel had seen him race; now he knows the man, rather intimately if he admits it, and he feels his heart flutter in excited anticipation to see Dean on the track. There’s the usual crowd of women, who have no idea Castiel is dating the man they’re fawning over, and as Castiel pours his dressing into his salad bowl, he finds himself smiling. He puts the lid on his salad and shakes, purposely not acknowledging Balthazar when he sits next to him. 

“Cassie, you’re _smiling_ ,” Balthazar greets.

“So I am,” Castiel replies, taking the lid off his salad and tucking it under his bowl so he can start poking around the contents. 

Balthazar’s gaze turns towards the screen, where all the racers are lining up. “You don’t normally take your lunch at this time.”

“I wanted to watch the race,” Castiel replies. Might as well be honest, to a degree. He takes a bite, humming in satisfaction. Dean had texted him one of his recipes for balsamic salad dressing and it’s delicious.

“Are you even into motorcycles?” Balthazar asks with thinly veiled curiosity. 

Castiel’s voice lowers slightly, “Moreso into the riders.”

“Ah,” Balthazar nods in agreement. “A lot of them are quite easy on the eyes.”

Dean’s name is announced and Castiel watches his stats scroll across the bottom of the screen, the camera focusing on him in the front of the line. Castiel’s heart skips a beat. 

“That Winchester has all the ladies’ hearts,” Balthazar says with a chuckle at the same time the women in the room squeal in delight. 

“He’s good looking,” Castiel says tamely. 

The race starts and Castiel does his best to seem casual, even though his blood is pumping through his veins. He tries to eat, too, without drawing too much attention to himself, even though his fingers are trembling slightly. Dean’s in third, currently, and the commentator mentions that the rider in second has a long history of being Dean’s greatest rival. Castiel watches the race with great interest, watching the way that other rider constantly cuts Dean off at the last second so he can’t pass him. A few corners are pretty hairy and Castiel has stopped eating, his fork frozen in the air, eyes glued to the screen. Balthazar says something but Castiel doesn’t hear it, because that mystery rider makes another swerve towards Dean. 

It all happens in slow motion.

Dean’s front tire loses its ground, and veers off violently towards the left. Dean manages to correct the bike but at the last second, that mystery rider cuts him off again, so close it looks like their knees touch in passing. Whatever happens, Castiel’s heart leaps up into his throat as Dean’s bike goes careening off the course, flipping tail over front, launching Dean off of it. Castiel watches Dean’s body fly through the air like a ragdoll and then land on the course - multiple other riders crash a little bit softer into each other in order to avoid running him over, and it’s a mess. The commentators are going crazy, the ambulance is screaming onto the field, and Castiel feels his gut drop to the floor at the same time he stands up and yells, “Dean!”

There’s a tense silence in the breakroom, some of the women looking at Castiel, some of them looking at the television in horror. Panic creeps into all of Castiel’s senses and he starts trembling, watching as the EMT’s load Dean’s very lifeless, very still body onto a stretcher and carry him into the ambulance. Castiel’s knees go weak and Balthazar is there to steady him and help him fall back into his chair.

“Cassie,” Balthazar’s voice sounds like it’s coming from under water. “Cassie, Cassie!”

“I have to-” Castiel’s trembling fingers try to pick up his phone, but he keeps dropping it. “I’ve got to-”

“Cassie-” Balthazar looks up at the television screen. “They’re at the St. John’s Memorial hospital.” He must read the name off of the ambulance. “Let me drive you, Cassie, you can’t drive right now.”

Castiel feels hot tears streaming down his cheeks, his breath coming short. His vision is tunneling, he feels like he’s being crushed. “Bal- He’s- Dean’s my-” 

“Shhh,” Balthazar says something to one of the women, who gets up from her chair and leaves the breakroom. Balthazar nearly carries Castiel to his office, gathering his things for him and grabbing his keys. He drives them in Castiel’s car to the hospital and it’s all a blur, Castiel’s face buried in his hands as he tries to stave off the impending panic attack.

Seeing Dean flying through the air like that- seeing his body _limp_ and lifeless as he got hauled away- 

Castiel lets out a strangled sob. He doesn’t know how much time passes but the next time he has any sort of awareness he’s in a chair in a waiting room, Balthazar standing close by and on the phone. In the next moment Dean’s brother is sitting down next to Castiel and while Castiel has only ever met the man once, he can’t help but turn towards him and grab the front of his shirt in desperation.

“Is he-?”

Sam gently grabs Castiel’s hands, his presence calming, grounding, very similar to Dean’s, only more intense. “We don’t know yet. It’s… pretty serious.”

Nodding dumbly, Castiel can’t pry his hands away from Sam’s shirt, likely wrinkling it. Sam is dressed in a button down and slacks, and Castiel vaguely recalls Dean mentioning that Sam is a lawyer of some sort. Ungluing his tongue from the dry roof of his mouth, Castiel croaks, “Where’s Claire?”

“She’s with Jo,” Sam says. “Dean has a pretty strict no-hospital policy for Claire.”

Castiel tries not to think about how many times Dean has been to the hospital before today. He tries not to think about all of those scars on Dean’s body and then finally pulls his trembling hands away from Sam’s shirt, burying his face in them and leaning back in his chair. A presence appears on his other side and Balthazar’s voice is soft, probably the kindest Castiel has ever heard it.

“Crowley said to take the time you need,” Balthazar says. His hand rests on Castiel’s thigh. “Cassie, what do you need?”

Rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Castiel takes a few calming breaths. It helps that Sam isn’t freaking out, and for once in their friendship, Balthazar is also helping with how helpful he’s being. Castiel takes in a shuddering breath and tips his head back to the wall behind him, blinking away unshed tears. 

“I just need to be here,” Castiel says, his voice thick with emotion. The worst has passed. He still has a terrible, sinking feeling in his gut, but he’s trying to push it aside. He needs to be ready for whatever news the doctors have. He needs to be ready for any outcome.

Most importantly, he needs to have faith that Dean will pull through. 

“What are his injuries?” Castiel finally asks, reaching up to loosen his tie. 

“Head trauma,” Sam says softly. “Broken hip. Shattered rotator cuff. They said they needed to do more tests to see if his spine was damaged at all.”

“Fuck,” Castiel says. Then, angrily, “That other racer _made_ him crash.” 

“He’s been arrested,” Sam is quick to say. “He’s under investigation. I’m going to be heading the case against him, we’re going to bring him to trial. The whole world saw what he did.” 

Castiel slumps slightly. “Good.” Then, quieter, softer. “Good.” 

“Cassie,” Balthazar gets his attention. “I’m going to call a cab for myself. Please call me and let me know if I need to bring you an overnight bag, or if I need to come back and drive you home.”

“Bal,” Castiel’s voice is wrecked from crying. He turns his watery gaze over to his friend, reaching out and grabbing the blond’s hand. “I’m sorry I’m always such a dick to you.”

Balthazar looks mildly surprised at Castiel’s words, but his expression smooths with fondness as he squeezes Castiel’s hand in return. “I know that’s how you show you love me, you big idiot.” He stands up, letting go of Castiel. “Whatever you need, please call. I’ve told Crowley you need the rest of the week off, at the minimum.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, passionately. “Thank you so much, Bal.” 

Balthazar shifts, a bit uncomfortable in the change of their relationship dynamic, but he waves an idle hand. “Just take care of your boytoy. He’s going to love having you as his nurse.”

Castiel can’t help but snort. That snort turns into a watery laugh, and then he’s crying again, covering his eyes with one of his hands. Balthazar squeezes his shoulder and then leaves, and then Castiel is alone with Sam in the waiting room. It’ll be a while until anyone comes in with any news, Dean still on the operating table, so Castiel gets up and moves to one of the cushioned benches, choosing to lie down on it on his side, curling up slightly. Sam has his tablet in his hands and Castiel should engage him in conversation - after all, this is the second time they’ve met, and Castiel really does want to get to know the younger Winchester better - but he doesn’t have the strength to speak anymore, let alone keep his eyes open. 

Exhaustion carries him into sleep.

He dreams about the sun kissing Dean’s freckles, and the way they laughed when they finally kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, sorry  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for leaving you on such a cliffhanger; i was helping people with gish and ended up at gishness in seattle and it's taken me two full days to recover from seeing misha's beauty irl  
> as a symbol of my gratitude towards my beautiful readers, have a long, indulgent chapter ♥

Things are touch and go for what feels like eternity. Castiel had ended up calling Balthazar to go to his house and use the hidden spare key to pack him an overnight bag. Sam’s wife had already brought him a bag a few hours into their stay, and by the time Balthazar had came and left, Castiel feels ragged, physically and emotionally drained. He thinks about a lot in the silence stretching between himself and Sam. He thinks about Dean quitting racing in the first place to focus on Claire, and has to wonder: why did Dean return, when he knew it was so dangerous? With his phone plugged in to the nearby outlet Castiel curls up on the little bench with some blankets and a pillow, cushioning himself as best as possible as he starts tapping things into Google. He hates speculating, but it’s keeping him occupied.

The rival rider that had been arrested is Cole Trenton. He has been racing in the same circuit as Dean for only a year longer than him. During Dean’s absence Cole had rocketed to the top of the charts - and while his times weren’t as good as Dean’s, the fact of the matter was that Dean wasn’t in the races at all, and therefore, Cole had been able to win. There’s not really much listed about him anywhere; he’s got a Wikipedia page but it’s not as filled out as Dean’s. Castiel would like to think it’s because Dean has a bigger fanbase than Cole. 

Judging by social media platforms, Castiel is correct.

It’s a little empowering for Castiel to flip through Instagram and Twitter, searching Dean’s name. So many fans are wishing for a speedy recovery - so many are rallying against Cole. Castiel draws strength from these strangers, these people that love Dean perhaps a bit objectively, but love him all the same. He skims through the heartfelt comments and skips anything that recounts in gory detail what happened at the race. After a while of that Castiel locks his phone and sets it aside, running his hands through his hair and covering his eyes with his palms, letting out a sigh. A nurse had come by an hour ago to let them know that Dean’s operation had been successful but he’s still in critical condition, and unable to have visitors for the time being. 

“Hey.” 

Cologne and coffee waft into Castiel’s senses and he looks up at Sam, who has taken a seat down by Castiel’s feet. He’s holding up a styrofoam cup of coffee and wearing a kind smile, and Castiel finds himself offering a small, real smile in turn as he sits up properly, adjusting the blanket over his lap. He takes the cup, blowing the steam away idly. “Thank you.”

“How are you holding up?” Sam asks, settling back slightly.

Castiel lets out a breath, staring at the dark liquid. “I… don’t really know what to feel.” 

He sees Sam nodding out of the corner of his eye. Gently, Sam rests his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here, Cas. Dean will be really happy to see you.”

Castiel ducks his head, swallowing thickly. “Have any of his accidents been this bad?”

Sam hesitates in replying, but that’s all the answer Castiel needs. “Dean’s resilient. Well- actually he’s stubborn as hell. He’ll pull through out of spite, alone.”

Nodding, Castiel lets out a breath and sits back some. He draws his knees up to his chest and rests the cup between them, using the stretch of the blanket as a makeshift table, stabilizing the cup with his fingers. “I’ve never been so terrified. I saw-” his voice cracks, and he clears it. “I saw it on the television.”

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice is a breathy sigh. “I had to watch the clip from about eighteen different angles three times each.” He sounds a little haunted. Castiel can’t imagine watching that horrific accident more than once. “But like I said, Cole is detained, and no lawyer he can buy is going to be better than me.”

Castiel feels his lips quirk a little. “You’re a good brother, Sam.”

“Dean’s done a lot for me,” Sam says. “He’s the reason I’m the lawyer I am today.”

Castiel stays quiet, but he tilts his head to listen to Sam, encouraging him to continue with his eyes. Dean talks of Sam with incredible fondness, a very proud big brother, but he’s curious as to what Sam thinks of Dean. So far everyone Castiel has encountered has a slight hero worship for the older Winchester - well-deserved, Castiel thinks - and he wonders if Sam holds Dean in the same regard. 

“Has Dean ever told you about our family?” Sam asks. “Mom, dad?” 

Castiel shakes his head.

Sam nods. “Our mom died in a house fire when Dean was four. I was just a baby. The devastation of the loss of our mother made our dad go into a tailspin. Dean says that when mom died, it was like dad died, too. He became detached, even a little cold. Dean spent his whole life raising me, making sure I had firm ground to stand on, even though it meant Dean sacrificed a lot. Dad sort of snapped out of it when Dean was sixteen and got his license. He started getting more involved with us again. I think the first time I ever saw him smile was when Dean told him he wanted to be a motorcycle racer. Dad laughed for almost an hour straight.” A small smile quirks on Sam’s lips. “But dad was present again, and that allowed Dean to start doing things for himself. But he’d spent so much time raising me that it was still in his nature to look out for me first.

Before Dean graduated he was already gathering sponsors who wanted him to race in the big leagues. He was making waves in the amateur rings and so many endorsement opportunities were being thrown at him - but he refused them all. Told everyone that he wanted to wait for his baby brother to graduate and go off to college before he went to race with the big boys. If it weren’t for Dean’s endless support, I wouldn’t be where I am right now. He would fix me food if I forgot, take care of me when I got sick, drive me to all of the study clubs I insisted on being in. The least I could do to repay him was apply for a bunch of scholarships, which I was granted. And true to his word, Dean waited until the day after I started school at Stanford to accept the endorsements.” 

Castiel feels his heart growing bigger and bigger the more he listens to Sam. How incredibly selfless. Castiel had always known that family is basically the be-all end-all for Dean, but hearing his fierce dedication for his little brother, and then thinking about his dedication to Jo, whom he considers a sister, not to mention how wonderful of a father he is… Castiel feels himself choke up a little. Dean is every ounce the amazing man that Castiel had originally thought him to be on that beautiful day when he was told his car was in need of repair with a kind smile and amusement in his warm eyes. 

Wiping a few stray tears, Castiel finds his voice. “Where is your father now?” 

“On his way,” Sam says. “He went over to see Jo and Claire and stay with them for a little bit. Claire loves him. John lives on the other side of the city so he’s not around too much.”

Castiel nods. Dean has never really mentioned his father, so Castiel had surmised that they didn’t have too close of a relationship. But it sounds like his father has done his best to make amends, and Castiel understands that Dean might not fully forgive him for emotionally abandoning his children and causing Dean to grow up too fast, but Castiel still thinks that the man’s attempt to save their relationship is admirable. 

After a few moments of silence, a thought occurs to him. “Does he know… that Dean is bisexual?” Castiel asks around the sudden lump in his throat.

“Oh,” Sam snorts a little, a wry smirk on his lips. “Dad was the first to find out when Dean was making out with his lab partner instead of studying in his bedroom.” 

Castiel blinks. “What happened?” 

Sam shrugs a little, taking a deep drink of his now cool coffee. “Told him if he was old enough to be making out, he was old enough to be buying condoms. Dad’s always been pretty laissez-faire. Our mother was bisexual, so I don’t think Dean turning out that way really shocked anyone close to us.”

Relief floods Castiel’s system. For a horrifying moment he’d been sure that Dean’s father hadn’t supported him, and that was a reason for their not being close. But hearing that their dad didn’t care either way allows Castiel to push his own toxic memories aside and take in a deep, relieved breath. He takes a drink of his own coffee, wincing at the bitterness of it, and then lets out a sigh. “I admire your family’s strength.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Sam is very gently nudging his shoulder against Castiel’s, making the older man look up at him. Sam’s expression is earnest and soft, and Castiel suddenly thinks that if he could have a younger brother, he’d want one like Sam.

“You’re a part of our family now, Cas.”

Castiel ducks his gaze, feeling heat blossom on his cheeks. He and Dean have been seeing each other for a little over a month and already everyone is so supportive of them. It’s… intense. Dean’s family and friends are just as loving and kind as he is and Castiel feels like he’s caught in the riptide of their affection. It’s pretty scary, but it’s also pretty… comforting. Rejuvenating.

A nurse approaches the pair with a muted smile on her lips. “Mr. Winchester? Mr. Novak?” 

Both Sam and Castiel stand; Castiel grimaces when pretty much every bone in his body pops but he straightens so he can listen, setting his empty coffee cup on the little table next to the bench.

“He’s stable,” the nurse says, “but he’s not awake. We have him in a medically-induced coma so his body can start repairing himself.” 

Castiel feels panic flicker through his veins. “Would he be in a coma, otherwise?”

The nurse shakes her head. “No, he woke up briefly after surgery, but the damage is too extensive and he’s much too active a patient to not keep him under.”

Sam snickers a little, breaking some of the tension. “You’re not wrong about that. Can we see him?” 

The nurse smiles warmly, “Yes.” She glances towards Castiel, somewhat knowingly. “Should I call for a cot to be set up in the room?”

“I…” Castiel hesitates, so Sam interrupts and says, “Yes, please.” 

They gather their things separately and follow the nurse towards Dean’s room. Sam enters first and Castiel hovers in the doorway, taking in the sight of Dean lying on the hospital bed, connected to all sorts of wires and tubes, what skin is visible covered in road rash and garish bruises. Castiel sees that he’s breathing on his own and that, at least, calms some of his nerves as he enters the room and sets his bag down in the corner. Sam is on his phone again and Castiel sits in the chair next to Dean’s bed, reaching out with shaky fingers to take hold of Dean’s left hand. It’s bandaged, his knuckles bloody and two of his fingers held together with a splint, and fresh tears fall down Castiel’s cheek. 

“He’ll be ok,” Sam’s voice comes from the other side of Dean’s bed. He’s gently running his fingers through the section of Dean’s hair that isn’t covered with gauze. Castiel isn’t sure if Sam is talking to him, or to himself.

They’re interrupted by another presence entering the room. Castiel looks up to see a handsome older man, and one good look at him lets Castiel know that this is Dean and Sam’s father. Standing up a bit awkwardly, Castiel waits for the man to hug Sam, and when the man turns to him, Castiel nervously sticks out his hand. 

“I wish we could be meeting under better circumstances,” Castiel says honestly. “I am Castiel.”

There’s the smallest twinkle in the man’s eyes as he shakes Castiel’s hand, “I’ve heard about you. I’m John.” 

Castiel flushes slightly and pulls his hand back. John has heard about him? Before he can say anything else, John addresses Sam. 

“Any idea on when he’ll be awake?”

Sam shakes his head. “He’s in a medical coma right now so he can heal. Probably a few days.” 

John nods, his gaze sweeping over his prone son. There’s sadness in his eyes, and Castiel finds himself sitting down and taking Dean’s hand again, unsure how to handle being in the same room as the father of his significant other, who has barely been brought up in any conversation they’ve had - but apparently, has heard about Castiel, from either of his sons. Sam and John fall into conversation and Castiel politely tunes them out, instead looking over Dean’s features. He recalls Dean’s confession of superstition - about how he hadn’t told Castiel what he did for a living because he, basically, didn’t want to jinx it. 

Castiel lowers his head until his forehead rests on the uninjured back of Dean’s palm, his eyes closing tight. _You idiot. Superstition isn’t real._

After a few moments he doesn’t hear Sam and John speaking, and lifts his head to look around the room. John is gone and Sam is sitting in a chair against the window, looking close to exhaustion.

“Sam,” Castiel speaks, his voice croaking. He clears his throat and tries again, “Sam, you can go home if you need to.” 

Sam cracks an eye open and looks at Castiel. “I can’t leave you here alone.”

Castiel shakes his head. “This is where I need to be. You need to go home to your wife, and you need your energy to take down that asshole.” 

Sam sends Castiel a slightly amused smile. “Dean told me you don’t cuss.” 

“That was before someone tried to commit vehicular manslaughter against him,” Castiel huffs, glancing down at Dean’s face. It’s heavily bandaged, and Castiel knows he must be bruised and broken beyond belief under the gauze, but oh, he wishes he could see his face, hear his laugh. “I will be fine here. In the morning I will go home and shower and have a real meal.” Sam sends him an arched brow. Castiel resists an eye roll, “I promise.” 

“I know you’ll do it because if Dean finds out you _didn’t_ , he’ll be all over you,” Sam says as he stands up. 

Castiel can’t help but smile a little, agreeing. The last thing he wants Dean to do when he wakes up is worry about Castiel’s state of being. Sam gathers all of his belongings quietly and once he’s gone, Castiel takes the time to stand up and leave Dean’s side so he can start putting together the cot. They’ve given him a couple of blankets and a pillow that’s probably way too fluffy, but Castiel makes it all up and then sits on it heavily. Elbows on his knees, he runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a little breath, closing his eyes tiredly.

He hasn’t prayed in years, but he sends a silent one up for Dean, knowing that if anyone deserves a little divine help in the world, it would be Dean Winchester.

\--

The week is terrible. Castiel lingers around Dean’s hospital room and only leaves to go home and shower and make sure that his apartment hasn’t been broken in to. Dean wakes up on the fifth day, hours after the nurse had stopped the influx of medication through the IV, and Castiel is by his side immediately, fresh tears falling down his face. Dean offers the smallest of smiles, even though it looks like it hurts for his mouth to move that way, and he weakly lifts his left hand up towards Castiel. Castiel takes it, holding it as tight as he dares, pressing a kiss to Dean’s knuckles, the wounds there fading into scars. 

“Heya, Cas.” 

Castiel lets out a little sob, bending over the bed and resting his forehead on Dean’s chest. “Hello, Dean.” he manages, his voice cracking. 

“Don’ cry,” Dean says, the words struggling to leave his lips. “Hey. Cas.”

Sniffling, Castiel straightens and looks down at Dean’s face, his heart doing all sorts of flips and tumbles. He can’t believe how much he’s missed Dean’s eyes, his smile, how much he just missed _Dean_. “You,” Castiel swallows thickly, trying to narrow his eyes. “You jinxed it.”

Dean whuffs out a surprised, rattly laugh that dissolves into coughs. Castiel immediately reaches to soothe him but Dean waves him off, a smile pulling at his lips a little truer now. “Shit,” Dean wheezes. “Yer right.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. He pulls the nearby chair closer to him so he can sit down in it, still holding Dean’s hand, letting out a little sigh. “Superstition isn’t real. Let’s consider this a coincidence.” 

Dean tries to nod, but it looks like it hurts, so his smile softens as his eyes land on Castiel’s. “Deal.”

Castiel shifts idly. “Your brother has been by every day to visit.” 

“You, too?”

Castiel’s eyes travel over towards the cot, unbidden, taking in the rumpled sheets and the pillow that he’d punched into flatness. “Uh… yes…” 

Dean’s eyes follow his gaze and Dean can’t really seem to roll his eyes, but Castiel feels the gesture anyway. “Y’didn’t hafta… stay.”

“But I chose to,” Castiel says quickly, evenly. “There’s no way I could be anywhere but here, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes get a little glossy, and for a second Castiel is worried that he’s experiencing pain, until his rough voice croaks out, “Fuck, Cas.” His eyes are shining with fondness, and Castiel’s heart starts swooping again. “Means ‘lot.” 

Castiel just smiles softly in return. “The nurse said that you’d be discharged a few days after you wake up. They have to run a few more tests.” He reaches towards the cord hanging by the bed, pressing the CALL NURSE button. His hand then detours towards Dean’s head, gently running through his hair; the gauze wrapping him up had been removed yesterday and the nurse had allowed Castiel to bathe what parts of Dean were easy to reach, so his hair is nice and soft. 

“Good morning,” the nurse greets as she enters the room. She stands at the foot of the bed, “Dean, welcome to the land of the living.”

“Feels good,” Dean slurs slightly. 

The nurse smiles a bit wider. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake, but can you tell me anywhere you’re experiencing pain?”

Dean seems to take stock of his body. “M’hip, mostly. Everywhere else hurts… the same.” 

The nurse nods, “Your back?”

“S’good,” Dean replies, squirming a little to prove his point.

“Wonderful. You had us really scared for a moment,” the nurse says, reaching down to gently pat Dean’s foot. “I’ll go get the doctor now.” She leaves, taking with her Dean’s chart. 

“She’s nice,” Dean says, relaxing back against the bed. Castiel reaches for the controls that adjust the mattress, pressing the UP button until Dean tells him it’s in a good position. “Why were they scared?” Now that he’s a bit more upright, it’s easier to speak.

“They were afraid you had a spinal injury,” Castiel says. “I overheard them being unsure if you would even be able to talk again. I’m so-” his voice gets clogged with emotion, and he tries to clear it so he can speak clearly, “I’m so glad that’s not the case. Your body has already healed so much in the past few days, they took you out of the coma early.”

“Thank God,” Dean says, clear relief in his voice. “S’fucked up.”

“Do you…” Castiel licks his lips. “Do you remember what happened?”

Dean turns his gaze up to the ceiling, clearly trying to recall what had happened. “Mmm… was third. Losin’. Then… lost control.”

Castiel nods slowly. Dean doesn’t remember Cole purposely running him off the track. He keeps it to himself, not wanting to bring it up - the doctor said that there’s a high possibility of Dean having emotional trauma from the event. There will be a time and a place to tell him, the doctor had said. Castiel thinks it’s Sam that should tell Dean - Castiel doesn’t trust himself to not get pissed off, which is exactly what Dean _doesn’t_ need right now. Castiel needs to stay calm and strong, for both of them. 

The doctor comes in with the nurse trailing behind him, and Castiel gets out of the way so he can perform a few tests. A pen light to Dean’s eyes, gentle prodding to his ribs (“bruised, not broken. They should heal up quickly.”), and then the doctor is pulling the blankets off of Dean’s body to expose his waist and legs. Dean sucks in a breath when his eyes land on the gory staples holding his skin together, his right leg looking like something out of Frankenstein. Castiel averts his gaze briefly - wow. He hasn’t seen this injury yet, always allowing the nurse to tend to it, afraid that he might do something wrong. It looks horrific, the staples starting up near the bottom of Dean’s ribs and ending close to his knee. The skin around the staples is red and purple, mottled and irritated, and the line is a little crooked - Castiel forces himself to look the length of it now, letting out a slow breath and putting his hand over Dean’s. 

“This is the worst of your injuries,” the doctor points out, like neither of them got the memo. “Depending on how quickly you heal, we could remove the staples in two to three weeks. It’s very important that you don’t stress yourself out, physically or otherwise. I’ve referred you to a physical therapist that you will be seeing starting Monday.” The doctor flips through Dean’s chart, and Castiel listens to Dean’s breath starting to quicken. “I see that Castiel will be staying with you to help you heal.” 

Dean’s gaze snaps over to Castiel, but Castiel continues to look at the doctor, unsure if he’s ready to face the expression on Dean’s features. What if Dean doesn’t want his help? It was Sam who suggested Castiel stay with Dean to help him over the next few months, and Castiel had agreed... Selfishly? He wants to take care of Dean, he wants to help him, he wants to be there for him and he knows someone closer to him should probably help, but nerves and anxiety had gripped him tight by the throat. What if something else happened to Dean? What if Castiel isn’t there to help him?

To save him?

“Is your home wheelchair accessible?” The doctor asks.

Dean shakes his head minutely. 

“Can you raise your arms for me?” the doctor asks, moving to Dean’s bedside again. Castiel shifts a little and watches at the doctor helps Dean guide his arms up and over his head - there’s a minimal wince on Dean’s features but other than that, things seem ok. “Your right rotator cuff is damaged. Crutches are an option, but you still won’t be entirely mobile.” 

“I can build a ramp,” Castiel finds himself saying. Both the doctor and Dean whip their heads towards him. Castiel still doesn’t look at Dean. “Dean won’t be discharged for a few days, right? I can get a ramp built in that time and situate the bottom floor of the house to be lived in.”

“Cas,” Dean’s voice sounds a little broken up. Castiel hopes it’s because he’s having trouble talking in the first place and not because he’s going to cry.

Finally, Castiel turns his gaze towards Dean as the doctor pulls up the blankets to hide his mangled leg. His hand is still on Dean’s, who rotates his wrist so their fingers can slot. It’s a little awkward because his middle and ring finger are splinted together, but Castiel takes the gesture to heart all the same. “Please, let me help you, Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes search Castiel’s for what feels like eons. After what’s probably only a few seconds Dean nods, looking up at the doctor. “Alright. Wheelchair. Cn’ I still get crutches? Wanna try walkin’ more.” 

The doctor smiles softly. “Wheelchair and crutches. But make sure you take it easy. You are going to be starting physical therapy a week from today but you mustn’t over exert yourself. I’m going to rely on Castiel to make sure you follow all of our home-care instructions.”

Dean’s lips quirk. “A’right.”

Castiel rolls his eyes a little, “Dean, this is serious. Whatever the doctor says, goes.”

“Doc,” Dean looks up at the doctor, who pauses in fiddling with the IV stand. “Am I… g’na ride again?” 

The doctor’s smile softens around the corners. “You seem to have a very resilient body, Dean. You are a very healthy young man. If you follow all of our after care guidelines and allow Castiel to look after you, riding is in your future. But you must allow your body to heal.” 

Dean relaxes visibly. “‘Kay.” 

After checking a few more things the doctor and the nurse leave. Castiel scoots his chair closer to Dean’s bed once more and now has both hands covering Dean’s, staring down at them quietly. He’s absorbing everything the doctor had said and knows Dean is doing the same, and after a few moments of silence, Dean speaks.

“Yer r’ly g’na stay wi’ me?” 

The doctor must have turned on the morphine. Castiel smiles warmly at Dean, reaching up with a hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. The bruises on his face are in the healing stage, and he’s beautiful. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean’s lashes flutter, his smile euphoric. “Awesome.”

Castiel watches him fall asleep and thanks God that his prayers had been answered.

\--

Over the next few days Castiel had acquired a copy of Dean’s house key from Sam and started getting everything together. He uses Dean’s shop to build a ramp, and it takes some trial and error and lots of explanations from the guy at Lowe’s, but once it’s all done he and Sam get it bolted into place on the front porch. Castiel makes sure that the way it’s attached to the pristine deck isn’t terribly obtrusive; once Dean won’t need it, Castiel wants to make sure that no evidence of a ramp being there is left over. He even paints it periwinkle blue, trimming the railing in white so it matches Dean’s beautiful home. He spends time inside Dean’s house learning where every room is and what occupies it, and on the third day of getting everything situated, Jo and Claire come by.

“CAS!” Claire yells as she launches through the front door.

Castiel barely catches her, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and helping her up his body so she can wrap her little legs around his waist. She hugs him tightly and smacks kisses all over his cheek and he laughs a little, flustered at the display of affection.

“Hello, Claire,” he greets softly, despite her energetic greeting.

“I missed you!” Claire is still yelling. “Mommy said daddy got in a crash and you’re gonna be his nurse! Is that true?”

Castiel arches a brow in Jo’s direction - she’s shutting the front door behind her and looking innocently at the ceiling to avoid Castiel’s gaze. “Well,” Castiel shifts Claire so she rests on his hip, “yes, I am going to be taking care of your daddy.” 

“I wish I could help too,” Claire pouts, her decibel level lowering. “Mommy says that daddy can’t get stressed, and sometimes I’m stressful, and if I’m stressful he won’t heal right.”

“That’s very true,” Castiel says. He starts ascending the stairs to Claire’s room, knowing Jo is following behind him. “You’re a very smart girl, Claire.”

She beams, “Thanks!” 

At her bedroom door he sets her down and she prances into the space, starting to open up multiple drawers. Jo stands with Castiel in the doorway, holding out a duffel bag towards Claire. “Fill this up, baby. Empty out your sock and underwear drawer.”

“Ok!” Claire dutifully gets to work, promptly ignoring the adults.

“So,” Jo says, folding her arms loosely across her chest. She looks up at Castiel with a small smirk, “I heard you were the first to respond.”

Castiel flushes slightly. “I… saw it happen.”

“I haven’t,” Jo says softly. Her gaze returns to Claire. “If I had my way, neither of us would ever see it.” 

Castiel nods. “Is it really alright for Claire to stay with you for three months?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Jo admits. “I’m not like, bitter that Dean has her most of the time. I know it’s what’s best for her. But she’s at a good age now where us spending time together is only gonna be good. And my mom can help babysit, too. Really, you should be worried about Dean being without her for so long. Longest he’s never seen her was for two weeks last summer when she went to camp with Kaia. He nearly lost his mind, he missed her so much.”

Castiel feels his heart ache a little. “It will be rough on him.”

“But he’s got you,” Jo points out, gently elbowing Castiel, the smile returning to her lips. “And you’ll take good care of him. I’ve heard you’re the only person that can out-stubborn him.” 

Castiel can’t help but chuckle a little, “I’ve heard that, as well.”

“All done!” Claire yells triumphantly. 

“Grab your pillow and your teddy,” Jo instructs.

Claire does as told and then comes up to the pair of them. She slings her backpack over her shoulders and then drops her pillow and teddy to wrap her arms around Castiel’s thighs, hugging him and burying her face in his stomach. “Gonna miss you, Cas.”

A little surprised at the declaration, Castiel reaches down to hesitantly card his fingers through Claire’s fluffy blonde hair. After a second he shifts so he can crouch down in front of her; there are tears brimming in her pretty eyes and Castiel reaches up to gently thumb over her cheek, his smile devastatingly fond. “Send us videos. And draw pretty pictures for your daddy. You can visit once a week and give them to us.” 

Claire nods and sniffles wetly, before throwing her arms around Castiel’s neck and hugging him tightly. “I will!”

Castiel tries to pull away and stand but Claire clings to him like a barnacle, and he’s reminded of Dean clinging to him in his sleep at the cabin. Clearly it’s hereditary. He obliges her as he stands with her in his arms and holds her comfortingly, following Jo down the steps and into the foyer. 

“We’ll call before visiting to make sure Dean’s up to it,” Jo says. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “He seems to be in high spirits now, but I don’t think the… reality of the situation has hit him yet.” By ‘reality’ he means ‘trauma’, and he knows Jo catches his drift.

She sends him a smile and reaches out for Claire, “Like I said, he’s got you. I think he’ll be ok.”

Claire clings tighter to Castiel. “Nuh-uh. Can I stay with Cas today?” 

“No, baby,” Jo says, actually sounding sad. “Cas still has a lot of work to do around the house. Daddy can’t go up and down stairs so he’s going to be living on the main floor in the guest room and Cas has to make sure everything is just right for him.”

Claire warbles a little, and Cas feels a mixture of snot and tears smearing over his neck. “I wanna be a nurse, too!” 

Very slowly Castiel kneels so he can get Claire on his knee, pulling her gently away from his neck. He pushes her hair out of her face and wipes a few of her tears, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe her nose. “You’ll get a chance, Claire bear.” The nickname falls off his tongue easily, and for a moment he debates taking it back - but Claire _lights up_ from the inside out and she throws her arms around him again for another hug. He hugs her back as tight as he thinks he can, “Go be good for your mommy, and remember to draw us lots of pictures, ok?”

“Ok,” Claire says, her voice still small. She pulls away from Castiel and stands on her own two feet, taking Jo’s hand.

Jo is looking at Castiel with an unreadable expression as he stands up, and he does his best to not falter under her stare. A small smile finally cracks her lips, and she opens the door behind her. “You’re a really good guy, Cas.” Jo says. “I hope Dean knows how lucky he is.”

Castiel feels himself blushing, and he resists ducking his gaze, instead locking eyes with Jo. “I certainly know how lucky _I_ am.” 

“Good,” Jo says curtly, with a twinkle in her eye. 

When her and Claire leave silence blankets the house and Castiel lets out a breath, not realizing how much tension he’d been holding in his body. Claire had been so excited to see him - she had basically ignored Jo - her mother! - and paid attention to him. She wanted to stay with him, and Dean. Kids have such a simple way of being honest and voicing their wants and needs, it’s a little overwhelming. He had missed her dearly - he hasn’t seen her in a few weeks, and it’s kind of scary to think about the spot in his heart that she so easily fits into. He had been unsure how she would handle Dean having a new romantic interest, but apparently she’s at the age where she doesn’t care so much about semantics and cares way more about whether or not the adults around her will treat her good. And Castiel will always treat her good, he’s already made that promise to himself. 

Recalling his and Dean’s conversation the morning they left for the cabin, Castiel smiles to himself.

In it for the long haul.

A family.

Suddenly it’s a little less scary.

\--

When Dean is discharged from the hospital a week later it’s anything but a quiet affair. As Castiel helps Dean get situated in his wheelchair Sam comes blowing into the room, looking windswept and slightly flustered.

“There’s paparazzi outside,” Sam says. “I don’t know how they knew what day you were gonna be released, but they’re out there.”

Castiel stiffens, his knuckles turning white where his hands are gripping the handles of Dean’s wheelchair. “Dean?”

Dean lets out a little sigh, but doesn’t really seem bothered otherwise. He’s wearing grey sweats and a cozy knit sweater, bare-footed because he ‘hates socks, Cas, don’t put ‘em on me’. “They were gonna come eventually. Got any advice for me?”

“Feel free to say ‘no comment’,” Sam says with a blustery sigh, before he rolls his eyes. “But I know you’re gonna open your big mouth anyway.”

Castiel hides a chuckle behind his hand, covering it up with a cough. Dean had been told about Cole a few days prior, and while he had been pissed off, he didn’t seem too emotionally compromised over it. The doctor said that Dean should probably see a therapist in any case, to which Dean had said he’d think about it, and that had been that. Clearly Dean wasn’t surprised that Cole had gone to such drastic measures to try and usurp him.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road,” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye that has Castiel slightly on edge. “Onward!”

“I am not your steed,” Castiel replies dryly, but he dutifully pushes Dean out of his hospital room. 

Sam leads the way, acting like a bit of a barrier, and when they’re outside there’s five or six paparazzi and three reporters with microphones held out towards the trio. Castiel’s unsure about how he feels being photographed but figures he doesn’t have a choice and it was bound to happen eventually - being Dean’s significant other means stuff like this comes with the territory. He keeps his head high and Sam does his best to use his moose arms to try and keep people from getting too close, but pretty much all of the questions are the same: Will you be present during the trial, when will your injuries heal, will you ride again? 

One reporter, however, loudly exclaims “WHO IS THAT?” while thrusting her mic towards Castiel.

He blinks and recoils slightly in surprise, and that’s the only question Dean decides to answer, because of course it is.

“S’my boyfriend, Cas.” Dean playfully points at the cameras. “Hands off, and no Googling.” 

The reporters laugh, and Castiel finds a shy smile spreading over his lips. “I’m afraid I don’t have a Wikipedia page, you won’t find much about me.”

Dean twists slightly in his wheelchair to look up at Cas, “Do you even have a Facebook?”

“Social media is… trifling,” Castiel replies. 

Dean laughs until he coughs, settling back proper in his wheelchair and wiping a fake tear from his eye. They get to Sam’s car, Dean complaining about it being a ‘plastic heathen’ - but Castiel’s car is at Dean’s house because Sam had picked him up, and Dean’s wheelchair fits fine in the trunk once it’s all folded up. Inside the car, Dean riding shotgun and Cas in the back, the paparazzi and reporters seem to have gotten what they wanted because they all disperse. Castiel lets out a little sigh, slumping against the seat before buckling in as Sam starts to pull away from the hospital.

They reach Dean’s house and Castiel familiarizes himself with the wheelchair, both assembling and disassembling it. He gets it ready for Dean and helps the slightly larger man into it while Sam gets the crutches out of the trunk as well, and they start up the ramp that Castiel had built. Dean looks at it with admiration and thanks in his eyes and he reaches up to his opposite shoulder and slightly behind, resting his hand on Castiel’s on the handle of his wheelchair, giving it a squeeze. Castiel doesn’t need him to say anything. He knows Dean is grateful.

Inside Sam leaves a list of phone numbers on the fridge and tells Castiel if he needs help with anything to call any of them. After a little bit of fussing and Dean finally sniping at Sam to leave him the hell alone, Sam leaves with a mischievous smile, leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the living room. Dean has moved himself from his chair to the couch and is lying back on it, looking all sorts of exhausted. This is the most motion he’s had in a while, and likely pretty stressful with all of the paparazzi, so Castiel takes a bit of pity on him. He puts the crutches within reach and then folds up the wheelchair, putting it in the hall closet before joining Dean on the couch. 

They sit quietly together for a few moments until Dean shifts his body so he can flop over and lean into Castiel’s side; Castiel drapes an arm over Dean’s shoulders and tucks him close. He’s missed this intimacy. They’ve only slept together once, but once was all it took for Castiel to decide that he’s pretty sure he never wants to sleep another night without Dean again. The hospital had been torture, and while Castiel had occasionally snuck into Dean’s bed on his good side to catch a few z’s, paranoia usually had him leaving the bed before he could cause any stress to Dean’s body. 

“Missed you,” Dean mumbles, reading Castiel’s thoughts.

Castiel relaxes infinitely, turning his head to brush his nose into the softness of Dean’s hair. He can’t wait for Dean to take a shower here at home, so he smells like _Dean_ , and not like the hospital. “I missed you so much.” 

“Heard Claire came by,” Dean says.

Castiel hums softly and shifts his arm over Dean’s shoulders so he can lift a hand and start carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “She did. She promised to send us videos and draw us pictures.”

“...Uh?” Dean says, his voice lilting.

Castiel blushes a little. “Um- yes.” 

Dean shifts slightly, leaning his good shoulder against Castiel and smiling cheekily up at the older man. “I think she likes you.”

“I should hope so,” Castiel says flatly, “you are a package deal.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “You don’t have anything to worry about. She loves you.” 

Castiel tenses slightly at those words, his fingers stuttering through Dean’s hair. “She… does?”

“Sure,” Dean says simply, shrugging and falling back into Castiel’s side. “Kids aren’t very complicated. They either like you or they don’t. They lead by example. Everyone in my life likes you and cares about you, therefore she likes you and cares about you.” 

Castiel’s fingers come to a stop on Dean’s scalp. “Dean…” 

“Mm?” Dean asks, starting to sound a little sleepy. His pain medication might be wearing off. 

“I’m really thankful to be part of your family,” Castiel says softly. His heart hammers uncomfortably against his chest. “With Claire, and Sam. And even Jo.”

Dean turns to snuffle into Castiel’s neck affectionately. “Really glad you’re mine, Cas.”

Castiel swallows down the words threatening to spill out of his mouth, knowing Dean has fallen asleep against him. He chooses instead to relax against him and pull them until they’re lying out, Dean on top of him, Castiel’s arms around him securely. His eyes close and he absorbs this closeness, relishes the moment, knowing that they’re looking down a very long road.

He will stay by Dean’s side no matter what. 

Because those words that are on the tip of his tongue make him braver than he’s ever been.

\--

It’s late in the evening when Dean wakes up. Castiel had extricated himself from the man’s koala-cling about an hour after Dean fell asleep on him, unable to A) breathe, and B) find a comfortable position. He occupied himself by double checking the fridge and cupboards to make sure they had enough food to last them a few days - right off the bat Castiel feels anxious about leaving Dean for any amount of time, and wants to help him adjust to the healing process at home as much as possible, ever mindful of the warnings about him being a stubborn patient. He makes sure the guest bedroom on the main floor is ready to be occupied; new sheets, windows cracked, ensuite bathroom cleaned top to bottom (not that it was messy, Dean’s house is actually pretty immaculate for having a thirty-something bachelor living in it). 

“Cas?” 

Dean’s voice is rough and hoarse, and Castiel only hears it from where he’s at in the kitchen because he had taken a pause in unloading the dishwasher. Wiping his hands on a dish towel Castiel walks towards the living room, smiling softly when he sees Dean sitting up on the couch and blearily rubbing his eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asks, sitting next to Dean and reaching out to brush his knuckles against the younger man’s forehead. No fever. Good.

“Like a million bucks,” Dean obviously lies, wincing slightly as he shifts. “What’re you doin’?” 

“Unloading the dishwasher,” Castiel replies. Dean starts cracking his back and stretching what limbs he can. “Do you need help to the restroom?”

Dean sends Castiel a glare that’s only softened by the minute quirk of his lips. “I can do it.”

“Would you like dinner?” 

Dean’s in the middle of pulling his crutches towards him so he can stand, his expression melting into mild confusion. “Thought you said you suck at cooking?”

Castiel hums. “I do. But I’m sure I could do fine with supervision.”

Dean flashes a grin. “Tonight we can order something.”

“But your diet…” Castiel trails off, slightly unsure.

Dean waves a hand as he tucks a crutch under his left armpit. “Y’know, I think I’ve deserved a cheat night. Order us pizza, yeah?” He starts hobbling towards the powder room, calling over his shoulder, “Nothing with pineapple!”

Castiel chuckles to himself as he picks up his phone off of the coffee table and starts scrolling through local pizzerias. By the time he’s done ordering Dean comes hobbling out of the bathroom, his cheeks slightly flushed and sweat broken out on his brow. 

“Dean,” Castiel stands up, voice tutting as he makes his way over to Dean. He very carefully lifts Dean’s right arm over his shoulders, mindful of the damaged rotator cuff, and helps Dean make his way into the kitchen. Dean accepts the help, and when Castiel leads him to sit on a stool, Dean’s fingers catch in the hem of Castiel’s shirt, halting him from getting too far away. Castiel turns patiently to him, his head tilting slightly. “Is everything alright?”

Dean refuses to meet his eyes. “I just... “ he licks his lips. “Thanks. Thank you. For helping me out.”

“I would be a little jealous if a nurse came to take care of you,” Castiel says plainly. Honestly.

Dean’s eyes flash up in surprise. “Really?”

Castiel shrugs. “Besides- staying in your large, well-furnished house is an upside.”

Dean snorts, “The truth comes out.” He finally lets go of Castiel’s shirt, so the older man moves away towards the dishwasher to continue emptying it, knowing Dean is thankful for the change of atmosphere. “You’re gonna sleep with me, right?” 

Castiel wants to make a joke, but Dean’s voice sounds so… vulnerable, that he holds it back. “If that is what you would like.”

“‘Course that’s what I want,” Dean says, like he’s telling Castiel the sky is blue. “But do you?”

“Dean,” Castiel says, as patiently as possible as he turns to catch Dean’s eye. “If you think that after our night together at the cabin I would be satisfied sleeping in a bed by myself, you’re much less observant than I originally gave you credit for.”

Dean huffs a little, dropping his gaze. “We know how observant I am.”

“Shall I go write ‘yes’ on a two-by-four and bring it down on your head?” Castiel asks dryly, returning to putting away the dishes.

That makes Dean laugh a little. “Only if it leaves a ‘yes’ indentation on my forehead.” 

“I would never hit you in the face,” Castiel says, “it’s much too pretty.”

“What if I asked you to?” 

Castiel almost drops a glass, shooting daggers over at Dean as he firmly sets the cup on the counter. “What.” 

Dean’s got a shit-eating grin on his features. “Just tryna have a conversation.”

“Is this a kink negotiation?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t ask you to hit me with a _two-by-four_. Just your hand.”

“Dean,” Castiel starts.

“And maybe we start off easy with like, spankings and stuff. Maybe hold off on slappin’ my face around. Gotta get you comfortable an’ all.” 

“Dean.” 

“I bet there’s lots you wanna explore, right? You been single a while. What’s up your alley?”

“ _Dean_.” 

Dean smiles prettily at Castiel, who grabs a pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. He pops the lid off and shakes out two tablets, pours a glass of water, and then holds out both to Dean. “Please take this.” 

“Tryna make me complicit?” Dean asks with a wolfish grin.

“I’m starting to think you’re being lascivious to cover up any pain you might be experiencing.”

Dean’s expression falls just a fraction into the cutest of pouts. He grumbles, taking the pills and the water glass, mumbling, “Who even says ‘lascivious’...” He swallows down the pills and then sets the glass on the island counter, eyes burning holes into Castiel’s back.

Castiel ignores Dean’s petulance as he finally finishes putting the dishes away. He closes the door to the dishwasher and when he turns around the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of food. The rest of the night runs fairly simple; they eat at the kitchen island, Dean complains idly that Castiel is doing literally everything for him (but stays complicit, which leads Castiel to believe that Dean is so used to taking care of everyone, he’s having a hard time letting someone take care of him), and by the time their bellies are full and the leftovers are in the fridge, Castiel comes around the island to help Dean off of the stool.

“Would you like to shower before bed?” Castiel asks as Dean leans into him.

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little gruffly because he’s being jostled. “Wanna wash off the hospital smell.” 

They move into the guest room and Castiel helps Dean sit on the edge of the bed, leaning the crutches up against the dresser. He moves into the ensuite while Dean starts pulling off his clothes, turning on the water and holding his hand under it. He had moved Dean’s toiletries from the master bath earlier in the day, so hopefully everything Dean needs and wants is within reach. This bathroom has a shower/tub combo so Castiel takes it in thoughtfully, knowing he’s going to have to help Dean get into the shower. Which is fine, from a clinical standpoint.

From a boyfriend standpoint, it’s a little… nerve-wracking. They’ve seen each other in their boxers, but Castiel feels like a middle schooler, getting nervous at the thought of seeing Dean fully naked, as well as potentially helping him wash up. He’s not so delusional to think that when they get intimate it’s going to be some mind blowingly perfect experience; it’s been over twenty years since Castiel has been intimate with someone and he won’t delude himself into thinking that there won’t be any awkward moments when they get down to business. So, now that his thoughts are circling back, maybe helping Dean like this will be the perfect ice breaker. 

Yeah. Hold on to that, Castiel.

He walks back into the bedroom to find Dean in his boxers, still sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean’s eyes are downcast, trailing up and down the vicious patchwork of staples and stitches running from rib cage to kneecap, and Castiel’s heart squeezes in his chest. Dean is good at putting on a smiley face and pretending he’s ok when he’s not, but in this moment, Castiel can see how _hurt_ Dean is. His whole career ripped from him in an instant, his life put on hold. And even though the doctor had said Dean will likely ride again, Castiel has a feeling that racing is going to be off the table. 

Well- it’s more of a hope, than a feeling. Even Dean himself had said that he took a break from racing because it was dangerous and he was afraid of something happening that could take him away from his daughter and his family. Castiel feels slightly guilty as that flash of hope flares through his system - hope that Dean will really call it quits. This was close enough of a call for Castiel to realize that Dean could _die_ doing what he loves. 

They’ve only known each other for a few months, but Castiel is pretty sure he would be utterly devastated if Dean-

He cuts off those thoughts. When he’s within reach he reaches out towards Dean, trailing his fingers along Dean’s cheek gently to get his gaze to lift up towards him. Castiel offers the smallest of what he hopes is a reassuring smile, speaking softly.

“I’ll help you get in.” 

He helps Dean up off of the bed, allowing the man to fully lean his weight against him. Dean stays quiet, pensieve, and Castiel allows the silence to carry on. It takes a bit of maneuvering but he gets Dean’s boxers down his legs and his feet over the edge of the tub and inside, one by one, his hands steadying Dean’s good hip and shoulder. Once Dean is inside he tips his head back into the warm water, but Castiel’s hand is still on his bicep, afraid to let go. It’s slippery in there, Castiel belatedly realizes. Dean is naked and wet and injured and ah, well. 

“Here,” Castiel’s hand slides down Dean’s bicep to his hand so he can lift it up over his head, encouraging Dean to wrap his good fingers around the metal shower curtain rod. Dean arches a curious brow at Castiel, but his expression turns from mildly curious to explicitly interested when Castiel starts stripping his clothes from his body. Once he’s fully naked, and pointedly not looking anywhere suspicious, Castiel joins Dean in the shower, shutting the curtain behind him. 

“You don’t-” Dean starts saying. He cuts himself off, then clears his throat, still gripping the curtain rod. “Ya don’t gotta go this far, Cas. I think I can manage.” 

Castiel shakes his head, reaching for the shampoo. He’s not getting as wet as Dean, wanting to keep the focus of the shower strictly on the other man. “I am sure you can, but I am not ready to let you manage this on your own.” He squirts shampoo in his hand and then sets the bottle down again, reaching up to start lathering Dean’s hair.

Immediately, Dean relaxes. He stays steady with the curtain rod but the tension leaks off of his body in waves as Castiel massages his scalp. Castiel tries to keep things as clinical as possible; he gets Dean’s hair shampooed and conditioned and then grabs the body wash and the pouf, starting to lather it up on Dean’s chest, first. He eyes watch what he’s doing but he also looks up at Dean’s face to make sure he doesn’t jostle him around too much (and also, he’s greedily drinking up the soft bliss written on Dean’s features), and when it comes time to wash around the wounds, Castiel switches from the pouf to his hands. He soaps them up generously and very, very carefully starts washing around the staples, trying not to get them too sudsy (they’ll have to invest in an antibacterial wash for this area, but for now, this should do). He lowers himself into a crouch so he can reach all the way down Dean’s legs, and on his way up he’s eye-level with… well. You know. 

Glancing up, he sees that Dean’s eyes are closed, his expression relaxed. There’s no tension or apprehension in his body as Castiel’s hands move closer and closer towards his pelvic region, so Castiel pushes on. His hands and fingers give Dean’s soft cock and balls a perfunctory wash and Dean barely makes a noise and doesn’t even really physically react, which makes Castiel feel both relieved and guilty. Dean must be in a lot of pain to not be making some sort of inappropriate joke. He returns to standing and then gently guides Dean to move back into the spray so Castiel can start cupping the water to rinse the suds from his body. They spend a total of twenty minutes in the shower and the hot water starts fading by the time Castiel reaches for the faucet to turn it off. Castiel reaches for a towel off of the rack and brings it into the shower, starting to gently pat the soft fabric over Dean’s skin to dry him. 

Dean’s eyes finally open right as Castiel looks up at him, and Castiel’s heart seizes in his chest. 

“Cas,” Dean says softly. 

Castiel continues patting his skin gently, swallowing and averting his gaze. “Yes, Dean?” 

“Don’t worry about me, alright?” Dean’s voice is still soft. When Castiel reaches up with the towel to start ruffling his hair dry, he’s still avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I know you’re worried. About the racing an’ stuff.” 

Castiel’s eyes glance down towards Dean, surprised. “Am I that obvious?”

“Probably not,” Dean amends, “but I can tell your brain is goin’ a million miles an hour.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice softens a fraction, “you could have died.” Saying it out loud makes it all the more real, and suddenly Castiel’s throat is tight with emotion. “I saw the accident. I was sure you…” he trails off, and his hands slowly stop working the towel over Dean’s head. His eyes sting. 

“Hey,” Dean reaches up to cup Castiel’s face with both of his hands, forcing their gazes to meet. 

Castiel’s eyes flicker over his features; his brow bone is still slightly bruised, there’s a cut healing on his lip, his nose is slightly more crooked at the bridge than before. He’s so gorgeous. He’s alive. Castiel drops the towel and reaches up so he can put his palms over Dean’s hands, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. His body starts trembling, all of the emotions and thoughts he’s been keeping locked away since the day of the accident starting to manifest in the form of intense, acute relief. Dean is alive and he is _here_ , right in front of him. 

The hug is a little awkward. Their skin is slippery as their chests slide together and Dean can’t really raise his right arm properly to wrap it around Castiel’s shoulders, but the embrace is the most solid thing that Castiel has felt in days. It grounds him. His arms are under Dean’s armpits and he clings onto the other man like he’s about to fall off the edge of the earth if he doesn’t. His face goes into the crook of Dean’s slightly damp neck, and he takes in a few shuddering breaths, savoring the way Dean’s good hand runs up and down his back in soothing motions. They stay like that for a few minutes until Dean shifts and Castiel remembers that he’s injured, and probably uncomfortable to have been standing for so long. 

Very carefully Castiel helps Dean out of the shower, picking up the discarded towel and hanging it on the rack to dry. He puts down the toilet seat lid and helps Dean sit down on it, his bad leg stretched out, and Castiel disappears into the guest room to get them both a fresh pair of underwear. Castiel dons his own but leaves Dean naked as he pulls out some medical supplies from the cabinet, kneeling in front of Dean so he can start carefully applying antiseptic to the staples and stitches. It doesn’t take long to make sure everything is cleaned properly and then Castiel is helping pull boxers up Dean’s legs, mindful of the wounds. Dean has a thankful smile on his lips as Castiel helps him to stand, and then they make their way into the bedroom. 

Climbing into bed with Dean is more familiar than it should be, and it’s comforting. With the lights off and silence throughout the house Castiel draws Dean towards himself, wrapping the younger man up in his embrace. Dean’s face tucks under his chin, lips to his adam’s apple, and Castiel closes his eyes to allow the comfort to swallow him whole. 

Dean is alive. 

Dean is here. 

More importantly: Castiel is here. 

He feels more present than he ever has before. 

\--

Things are up and down for a while. Dean wakes up constantly during the night, either in pain or from nightmares, to which Castiel blearily replies with medication and firm hugs. There are times when Dean blames himself for the accident, times when Dean thinks he had it coming. Castiel is there every time to assure him that nothing is his fault, and that he will get through this. Dean refuses to see a therapist and sometimes goes hours without saying a word to Castiel. The doctor had warned Castiel that mood swings would be a side effect of the pain killers that were prescribed, so Castiel is doing his best to take things with a grain of salt. Castiel is as stubborn, if not more than, Dean, so the whole situation isn’t as trifling as he initially thought it’d be.

When Dean gets grumpy, Castiel has no pity and gets grumpy right back at him. Castiel knows Dean doesn’t need coddling - he needs physical help and he needs to feel loved and supported, but Castiel knows deep down that Dean doesn’t want _sympathy_. Dean will give Castiel a few baleful glares and snippy words but Castiel meets them with indifference and a subject change. Dean goes to his physical therapy appointments determined, and usually comes out of them frustrated. On the second week Castiel knows that Dean is now just cranky because he’s been cooped up for a very long time, but Sam is scheduled to come over today, so Dean’s mood is a bit brighter than it has been. Castiel has had to field calls from Jo and break Claire’s heart when he says Dean isn’t ready to see her, so he is feeling pretty ragged, himself. 

Sam doesn’t knock when he enters at around noon. Dean and Castiel are lounging on the couch, a Harry Potter marathon playing on the TV; Dean immediately sits up and sends his brother the biggest smile he’s had in days, and Castiel feels warmth instead of irritation that Dean is so happy to see his brother. 

“Hey guys,” Sam greets. He holds out a piece of paper towards Dean with a warm smile. “Claire sends her regards and can’t wait to visit on Thursday.” 

Dean takes the piece of paper and Castiel leans in to see a drawing. It’s of Dean, Claire and Castiel of all people - they’re in the backyard garden and all have their arms wrapped around each other, and Castiel’s heart hammers in his chest at how innocent and cute it is. Dean’s eyes are suspiciously bright as he sets the paper down on the table, his grin diffusing slightly. Thursday for an hour, Claire will be here, and Castiel thinks that it will be about all Dean can take in his current state. Dean had begrudgingly agreed that an hour would be fine, for now.

“Can’t wait to see her, either. Just haven’t been in the right sorts, y’know?” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“If you would see the therapist you might feel better,” Castiel says, not for the first time. 

Dean glowers. “I ain’t seeing a shrink.”

“Then suffer,” Castiel says plainly, standing up. Sam looks a little shell shocked when Castiel turns his attention to him, “Would you like a beverage?”

“Uh,” Sam looks between both Dean and Castiel, clearly surprised at how they’re communicating with one another. “I’m good, Cas. How uh-” he laughs a little, his expression morphing into affectionate amusement. “You guys seem to be doing good.” 

“If ‘good’ is a relative term,” Castiel concedes. He walks into the kitchen anyway to grab himself and Dean bottles of water, returning to the couch to sit next to Dean. Dean takes the offered bottle without a word, and then Castiel returns his attention to Sam. “How are things going?” 

Sam still seems a little caught off guard at how Dean and Castiel are interacting, but he comes back to himself at the question. “Things are going great. His lawyer doesn’t have a good defense at all. We’ll be able to slaughter him.” 

“The sooner we get it over with, the better,” Castiel says, reaching up to massage between his brows. “Any news on the settlement?” 

“It’s looking good,” Sam says with a nod. “At the minimum, all of the hospital expenses will be covered. At the maximum, Dean could retire.” 

“That would be ideal,” Castiel nods. 

“I’m right here,” Dean gruffs.

Castiel sends him a blank look, “No one’s saying you can’t ride ever again, Dean. Merely that you should quit the circuit.”

Dean takes a long drink of his water, crinkling the bottle slightly, immaturely refusing to reply.

Sam’s expression changes again, and then he folds his arms loosely over his chest as he looks between the two of them. “You guys are really hitting it off, aren’t you?”

Castiel glances up to try and determine the level of sarcasm in Sam’s question, but upon seeing the honest admiration in his gaze, Castiel tilts his head slightly. Taking care of Dean has been difficult, definitely. But at the end of the day, when they get into bed together, all of the day’s tension melts away with soft kisses and warm, strong embraces. It _is_ hard taking care of Dean when he’s moody and petulant and stubborn, but it is equally rewarding, because Castiel knows that Dean is grateful, from the bottom of his heart. 

“You seem surprised,” Castiel settles on saying. 

“Well, yeah,” Sam says with a shrug. “Dean can be a real ass. And you two haven’t been together for very long, I was kinda thinking that this would be a terrible idea.” That amused, affectionate look spreads across his handsome features once more. “This ended up being the opposite. You’re already bickering like an old married couple.” 

Dean flushes and twists the cap too tight onto his bottle, the plastic snapping. Castiel smiles serenely as he replies, “With any luck, we will be an old married couple someday.”

Those words get the expected reaction from Dean: spluttering, blushing, flailing, and “Jesus, Cas!”. 

Sam laughs outright and waves his hands in surrender. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Do you need anything from the store?”

“I was thinking today we both could go to the store,” Castiel says. That perks Dean up immediately. “Get out of the house for a bit.”

Sam nods. “Good idea.” He turns his gaze towards Dean, getting a little stern. Hilarious, because he’s the younger brother. “Dean, man, you gotta know how lucky you are that Cas takes your shit.”

More grumbling, a deeper flush on Dean’s cheekbones as he folds his arms tightly over his chest and glares at the coffee table. “I know.” 

“You better,” Sam warns, before he nods towards Castiel. “Don’t be afraid to tickle him if he gets unruly.”

“Tickle?” Castiel repeats, arching a curious brow. That’s news.

Dean’s body sort of curls in on itself as he shoots Castiel a withering glare. “Don’t even think about it.”

“You’re _ticklish_?” Castiel asks, genuinely surprised.

Sam laughs maniacally as he leaves the house, the front door shutting behind him and cutting off his guffaws.

Castiel reaches towards Dean, fingers wriggling, and Dean swats his hand away. 

“DON’T.”

Castiel smirks to himself and stands up, shrugging. “Fine. Let’s get dressed and ready to go.”

Dean still looks incredibly suspicious, but he uses his crutches to haul himself up off the couch and follow Castiel into the bedroom. By now Dean doesn’t really need help getting dressed, but Castiel helps him anyway, the both of them silently enjoying the intimacy it provides. Dean is, despite his attitude, enjoying being taken care of - and Castiel is, despite his returning of attitude, enjoying taking care of Dean. It’s a unique symbiosis, and Sam’s intrusion on their bubble only further cements Castiel’s errant thoughts that maybe, just maybe, he and Dean are perfect for each other. 

Dean’s still too tender to wear jeans, so Castiel helps him into a pair of grey sweats. Next is a tshirt, and then a hoodie, and it’s the most casual Dean has ever looked going out in public, but Castiel finds his thoughts getting distracted at the way the sweatpants hug his curves. Ahem. Castiel dresses in jeans and a tshirt and hoodie as well, and as they make their way out the back door towards where Castiel’s car is parked, Dean hangs back a bit. Castiel glances over his shoulder to see what the hold up is and finds Dean staring longingly at Baby, his knuckles white on the holds of his crutches.

“Dean,” Castiel turns so he can approach the other man. Dean doesn’t look at him. Castiel looks at the black beast and then, softly, carefully, asks, “May I drive her?” 

Dean’s attention snaps towards Castiel. He looks like a frightened deer for all of two seconds before his expression morphs into resignation, his gaze turning back towards the car. “Never let anyone else drive her before.” 

Castiel nods, and then reaches to rest his hand over one of Dean’s on his crutches. “It’s just to the grocery store. We can take my car if you like, but I know you miss yours.” 

Dean seems to be waging war inside his brain, before he lets out a stuttery, frustrated sigh. “Keys are in the kitchen on the rack.” 

Castiel knows this is a momentous occasion, so he leans in to press a warm, gentle kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

Getting the keys is easy, and he uses them to lock up the house before he jogs down the steps of the back porch. Dean is already at the passenger side of the car, so Castiel unlocks the driver door and gets in, reaching over to pop the lock on the other side. Carefully, Dean ambles into the car and twists so he can put his crutches in the backseat. Castiel waits for him to get situated before he puts the key in the ignition and turns, the car roaring to life beneath them. Dean lets out a little, appreciative sigh, his hands reaching forward to run his fingers across the dashboard. 

“Don’t you dare speed,” Dean finally says as he settles back.

Castiel sends Dean a glance that says ‘really?’, before putting the car in reverse and backing out of the driveway. The ride to the grocery store is short but sweet, Dean riding with the window down and his hand dancing in the wind currents. When they park there’s hardly any business at the store, which Castiel appreciates as he gets out. He gathers Dean’s crutches from the backseat and rounds the car to help Dean out, and Dean sends him a small, grateful smile. Castiel walks at Dean’s pace as they enter the store and he grabs a handbasket to drape over his arm, a mental list of things already in his head. Fresh produce and meat are at the forefront, but he figures Dean probably has some cravings he wants to satisfy.

They’ve never grocery shopped before, but it’s… fun. Dean’s mood seems to have perked up considerably now that he’s not stuck inside, and he’s smiling and making jokes and acting generally goofy as they start filling up the basket. They get what Castiel had originally came for and then find themselves in front of the coolers, Dean staring longingly at his favorite brand of beer. 

After a moment, Castiel sighs. “Are you going to stare at it, or ask me to grab you a case?” 

Dean turns shiny, hopeful eyes towards Castiel. Castiel’s heart flips. Over the past weeks it’s been easy to just fall into step with Dean, to be in his orbit and be focused on pretty much everything other than the ray of light that exists within Dean. Something like being too close to the sun to appreciate its beauty. In this moment Castiel’s breath gets knocked out of his lungs, Dean’s beautiful emerald hues trained on him, crooked smile on his lips, reminding Castiel that this is the man he’s been falling for since the moment he met him. 

Moving without a thought, Castiel reaches forward to cup Dean’s cheek as he leans in for a kiss. Dean’s eyes widen in surprise just before Castiel makes contact, and then they slip shut, one of Dean’s hands moving off of his crutch to tangle his fingers in the material of Castiel’s hoodie. Castiel kisses Dean slow, deep, exploring, doing his best to convey every good feeling Dean gives him. Dean is warm, pliant, soft, and returns the kiss with the same emotions. 

Someone clearing their throat in the background has them breaking apart, Castiel turning his head to glare at the stranger.

“I uh,” the customer looks between Castiel and Dean, “kinda wanna grab some beer, so…” 

Remembering himself, Castiel adjusts the basket on his arm and pulls away from Dean so he can grab a six pack of the beer he’d been eyeballing. “Apologies.” Castiel says to the stranger.

The man just shoots a small smile, shrugging. “No problem.” He turns his attention to Dean. “Good to see you on your feet.” 

Dean is flushed from the kiss, the tint of it darkening slightly when the man addresses him. Shrugging, Dean’s fingers wring the handles of his crutches. This is the first time he’s been out in public since being released from the hospital. “Thanks, man. Feels good to get outta the house.” 

The man grins a bit wider. “Wish I had a nurse like yours when I broke my ankle last summer.”

Dean manages a laugh. “Yeah, I’m pretty lucky, huh?” 

That seems to be a good time to part, because the man wishes Dean well, then grabs his beer from the cooler and wanders away. Castiel stares after him for a moment and then turns back to Dean, ready to ask him if there is anything else he needs, but he falls quiet when he sees Dean’s determined gaze on him.

“Um,” Castiel says.

“I’m fucking lucky as hell,” Dean announces. Castiel blinks. Dean continues, “Cas, what the hell. I’ve been such an asshole to you and all you’ve been doing is taking care of me.” 

Castiel tilts his head slightly, “Your attitude has been understandable, Dean. You’ve been through a lot. I happen to have the backbone to take it.” 

“You shouldn’t have to ‘take’ anything, man,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I’ve been insufferable. I’m a terrible patient. Fuck.” 

Sensing that Dean is going to start beating himself up and spiral into a self-deprecating rant, Castiel takes a step forward. He sets down the basket and the beer so both of his hands are free and he cups Dean’s jaw, meeting him head on. 

“Stop.” He commands. “Stop right now. Do not go down that path of thinking. Dean, taking care of you was a choice. I could have easily walked away when things became difficult. But I did not, because we’ve talked about this, Dean. A future. Together. That future involves stress and confusion and miscommunication, but that future belongs to _us_. I have accepted for a long time that I will take the bad with the good, because it is all with _you_. Do not even _think_ about taking that away from me.” 

That seems to stun Dean into silence. His green eyes get a bit glassy and he shuts his mouth, swallowing down whatever words he’d been thinking about saying. Castiel holds his gaze until Dean breaks it, eyes dropping a fraction in obvious submission to Castiel’s words.

“M’ really glad you’re here, Cas,” Dean says softly. 

Letting out a relieved breath, Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead and then pulls away so he can pick up the basket and beer. “As am I. Let’s get home.” 

They pay for their groceries and a few more people recognize Dean and wish him well, making the man smile almost coyly and thank them for their concern. Castiel’s heart is humble and full and all of the difficulties he faced in the past weeks are all made worth it when he and Dean get home, Dean announcing that he will cook dinner, feeling strong enough to at least move about the kitchen without the aid of his crutches. 

This is where Castiel belongs. 

This is where he is meant to be. 

In love and totally over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does it hurt less yet?  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been three months since the accident. Castiel has gone back to work, although after a lengthy (and overdue) conversation with Dean he’s scaled back quite a bit. Crowley seems miffed that his best employee has requested a less intense workload but he’d accepted it, because Castiel _is_ the best, and the other option was losing him, so things have been… good. Really good. Without work and Crowley stressing him out so much Castiel is lighter, happier, and more present. Besides, he’s unsure if he could throw himself fully back into the fire after being off work for nearly a month so he could take care of Dean. Not that Castiel is a lazy person - in fact, he’s quite opposite - but he had enjoyed the break immensely. 

He hasn’t had one in over fifteen years, after all.

Dean is pretty much back on his feet without too much difficulty. He’s got a bit of a limp but physical therapy has strengthened him well, and he’d even gone and seen a therapist for the emotional damage he’d been trying (unsuccessfully) to squash down. Things aren’t one hundred percent perfect, but they’re on the mend physically and spiritually, and Castiel admires Dean’s resilience every day - while people admire his own. Dean still gets crabby and cranky and snappy and at this point Castiel has surmised it’s actually a dormant personality trait. Dean has spent so much time taking care of others, being the backbone for his friends and family, that he’s just plain not used to someone else taking on the role. So Castiel just snips back, but he doesn’t take their squabbling to heart, knowing Dean has had to adjust to so much over the past few months. 

The people who visit really just check to make sure Dean and Castiel haven’t strangled each other to death. Sam visits regularly with updates on the case, the sentencing scheduled for next month and pretty much a guaranteed win. Cole Trenton had made some egregious posts online during Dean’s hiatus that basically spelled out that he was willing to do anything to continue winning even after Dean’s return, and those had been the nails in his coffin. Cole’s attitude during the whole thing hasn’t helped him either; you would think when being faced with attempted murder and vehicular assault one would act with a little more dignity and maybe a bit of humility. Cole has displayed no such emotions, and Sam is sure the jury isn’t going to show him any pity..

It helps that Dean Winchester has appeared at every hearing wearing a winning smile, charming the pants off of anyone who talks to him; it also helps that when he sits or stands his handsome face pulls into the slightest of grimaces, humble as he waves away those who offer him help with a determined smile. Who _wouldn’t_ want to help him win his case? 

At the first figure Sam had thrown at them for the settlement, Castiel had tried to act casual.

The second figure tossed around a few weeks later for if Cole were to actually be found guilty absolutely gobsmacked him.

It’s a practice in propriety that Castiel reminds himself that he had been into Dean even before knowing he was a famous motorcycle racer and - subsequently - quite well off financially.

Jo and Claire visit every Thursday and Sunday. Claire is as bubbly and bright as ever, constantly drawing pictures for Dean and Castiel and telling them how much she misses and loves them. Dean video chats with her as often as possible, but their state of existence is still a little hairy. Dean is still posted up in the main floor guest room because he “bought too big of a house, Cas, fuck, how am I supposed to go up all of those fucking stairs two times a day?”, but he’s doubled his physical therapy so that he can get back to the comfort of his own bed sooner than later. Castiel isn’t officially living with Dean but he’s at Dean’s house more often than not and it’s an unspoken thing between them that they should probably talk about at some point, but are content to just live in the moment. Dean has taught Castiel how to cook a decent meal and they’re still adjusting to being in each other’s lives so consistently, but it’s working, and they’re happy.

Dean’s dad is going to bring Claire by this afternoon. On Thursdays Castiel has requested to come home early from work so he can be there with Dean and Claire, so currently he’s pulling into the driveway at around one in the afternoon, fresh groceries in the backseat of his car. He brings them inside with little difficulty and is quiet as he moves around in the kitchen, figuring Dean is probably napping somewhere in preparation for the storm of energy Claire will undoubtedly bring in with her. Summer break is going to end soon and she has been staying occupied between Jo and the grandparents, but Castiel finds himself thinking that next summer… next summer, they’ll be able to really spoil Claire and do all of the things she wants to do with her father.

He’s in the middle of chopping fresh ingredients for Claire’s favorite chicken noodle soup when he hears “Cas?” come from the living room. He rinses his hands and dries them before moving out of the kitchen to where Dean is lying on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes. 

“I’m making soup,” Castiel says, sitting down on the cushion by Dean’s legs. “How are you feeling?” 

Dean doesn’t reply immediately. Castiel takes the time to admire the shape of his arm where it bends over his face, but then Dean smiles with all of his teeth, and _that_ catches Castiel’s attention. Dean hasn’t smiled like that since before the crash.

“I feel fucking awesome.” 

Castiel raises a brow, surprised, warmth blossoming in his chest. “You do?”

Dean removes his arm from his face, directing that beautiful smile towards Castiel. “Yeah. I walked up and down the stairs this morning and I didn’t die. Claire’s comin’ over today and I think I’m ready to talk to her about coming home.” His voice cracks a little on ‘home’ and that, in turn, makes Castiel’s heart crack a little. Dean misses Claire _so much_ and that’s part of why he gets so cranky and stubborn sometimes, and it’s a big reason that keeps Castiel from taking any of his crankiness to heart.

“That’s wonderful, Dean,” Castiel commends, resting his palm on Dean’s good thigh and rubbing affectionately. “They’ll be here in an hour. You should clean up.”

“Hey,” Dean says, dropping his arm down so his fingers can grasp Castiel’s wrist gently. “You doin’ ok?” 

Dean checks in on him at least once a day (sometimes more, typically in the evening, if he’s been a particular pain in the ass), and it never ceases to make Castiel’s heart flutter. Falling into the caretaker routine hasn’t put out any fires, per se, but they’ve both put their more romantic endeavors on the back burner in order to ensure that Dean got all of the care and attention he needed. And Castiel is perhaps a little too fine with that; he didn’t really have an unquenchable sex drive to begin with when they started seeing each other, and maybe, if Castiel thinks really hard about it, he’s had some reservations about becoming physically intimate with someone. But with the prospect of Dean possibly on the final healing stretch, Castiel’s body reminds him just how much he is attracted to this man. 

Infinitely, by the way. 

“I’m good,” Castiel finally replies. He pulls his wrist away so he can grab at Dean’s hand instead, threading their fingers and bringing them up to his mouth so he can kiss his knuckles. 

“Cool,” Dean breathes. His eyes track Castiel’s lips against his fingers for a split second before he starts to sit up, “I’ll shower. Put out a bowl for dad too, yeah? Think he’s gonna be staying for a while.” 

“Of course,” Castiel says carefully, trying to keep the flatness out of his voice. 

Dean gets up and wanders off towards the guest room, and it takes Castiel a second to get up off of the couch. It’s not that he dislikes John - it’s just that he’s only met the man once, under terrible circumstances, and now he’s going to be meeting him again with a clear head and sound mind in a very intimate setting. Castiel is basically shacking up with his son, and when Claire is present Castiel is basically a second dad to her. Sam had said that John doesn’t care about Dean’s sexuality, but Castiel is too used to father figures being nothing short of disappointed with him. 

Standing up, Castiel runs his hands over his slacks, debating changing into more comfortable clothes. The preheat on the oven beeps, though, just as he starts turning towards the guest room, and he figures wearing slacks to “officially” meet the parent isn’t the worst thing. He heads to the kitchen to put the rolls in the oven and then returns to the pot on the stove, finishing his chopping and stirring them into the broth, getting lost in his thoughts. John Winchester hadn’t seemed especially scary, but there’s a lot to factor in for today’s meeting, and Castiel does his best to clear his head by thinking about what Claire’s face will look like when Dean tells her she can move back in. 

Castiel smiles a bit ruefully to himself. Eventually he’s going to have to go back to his own (empty) apartment. It’s almost easy to forget that he doesn’t live here (of course, until he has to pay rent for his (empty) apartment), but thinking about going home puts a lead weight in his gut. Could he even call it home? Here, where the sun shines every day no matter the weather; where there’s good food and laughter to be had; where he feels comfortable and… loved. Here feels more like a home than he’s ever had in his entire life and Castiel is loathe to think about walking away from it. 

Arms slide around him from behind, lips pressing to the nape of his neck, the scent of Dean’s body wash battling against the aroma of the simmering soup.

“What’s on your mind, angel?” Dean murmurs softly. 

“You,” Castiel says honestly. There’s no secrets between him and Dean, except maybe the big L word. He’s seen Dean at his weakest and lowest and Castiel firmly believes that the least he can give him in return is honesty and openness. “Us. Here.” 

Dean hums softly. The collar of Castiel’s shirt presses into his neck when Dean tilts his chin. “Then why do you look so sad thinking about that?” 

“Because once you’re healed I’ll be going back to my place,” Castiel says, resuming stirring. He keeps his voice steady and considers it a small victory. 

Before Dean can reply the front door bursts open, Claire yelling “DADDY!” drawing Dean away from him. He sags a little in relief, though he’s not entirely sure why. Letting out a breath once he’s alone Castiel puts a lid on the pot and sets the spoon on its cradle, turning around to head out to the living room. Dean’s got Claire in his arms - the first time he’s been able to pick her up in months - and she’s looking at him like he hung the moon. When Claire catches sight of Castiel she wriggles in Dean’s arms, reaching out for him. Dean laughs and when Castiel is close enough hands her off to him, warmth and love shining in his eyes. 

Castiel feels a little winded as Claire clings to him like an octopus.

“Hey dad,” Dean greets John, who is hanging up Claire’s sweater in the entryway.

“Hey son,” John greets warmly. He catches Castiel’s eye. “Castiel.”

“Hello, John,” Castiel greets, one of his hands on the back of Claire’s head as she buries her face in his neck. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

John sends Dean a slightly hesitant glance, “I don’t want to impose.” 

“Nah, dad,” Dean waves a hand. “S’fine. Stay a while. Want a beer?” 

John follows Dean into the kitchen, leaving Castiel and Claire in the living room. Claire hasn’t moved her face from Castiel’s neck and it takes a bit of coaxing to get her to pull away, and when she does, Castiel is struck by her pink cheeks and wet eyes. 

“Claire, what’s wrong?” Castiel asks, brushing her blonde hair away from her features. 

“Is daddy better yet?” Claire sniffles, reaching up to knuckle at her own eyes.

Castiel smiles softly, “Actually, he is feeling much better.” 

Claire sniffs again. “Really really?”

“Really really,” Castiel confirms. “Don’t cry, Claire bear. I made your favorite soup.” 

With her face buried in her hands, her little voice comes out muffled, “Chicken noodle?” 

“Mmhmm,” Castiel hums, rocking slightly back and forth to try and help calm Claire down further. 

“A-and,” Claire hiccups slightly, “rolls?” 

“Lots of rolls,” Castiel confirms. “A whole dozen.” 

Claire pulls her hands away from her face, wet blue eyes searching Castiel’s. His heart aches with how much love he carries for this child. She gives him a small, tentative smile. “Are you gonna be-” _hic_ “-my new daddy, Cas?”

Castiel’s brows rise slowly up his forehead, heart slamming against his ribs. “Um.” He supposes this conversation was bound to happen eventually, but not while Claire is sniffling and on the verge of crying in his arms because she’s worried about her father. His hand pets her hair back again and he can’t help but offer her a small smile, thumb brushing over her round cheek. “Would you like that?” 

Claire nods, the sadness in her eyes being quickly replaced with determination, her aura glowing a soft orange. “You’re a good dad! You help me w-with my homework and you can put my hair into a p-ponytail and you let me play with glitter.”

Castiel can’t help but chuckle. Those _would_ be the reasons Claire thinks he’s a good dad, and it’s honestly adorable. He bounces her slightly on his hip, which causes her to let a smile slip, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Maybe we should ask your daddy how he feels.” 

“He thinks it’s a great idea.”

Dean’s voice makes Castiel freeze, but Claire whips her head in his direction, her smile brightening by a thousand watts. She wiggles out of Castiel’s hold and he sets her down gently, watching her walk over to Dean, his heart thudding against his chest as Claire carefully hugs Dean’s good side. How long has Dean been watching? Listening?

“I...” Castiel starts saying, but then trails off, because he has no idea what to say. It’d been easy to get swept up in Claire’s questions and emotions, Castiel always wanting to comfort her and make her feel better, but now the gravity of the situation sinks in and he feels a bit of dread winding its way into his gut. 

“Tell you what,” Dean says, putting his hand on top of Claire’s head and looking down at her with such adoration in his eyes it makes Castiel’s breath hitch, “If Cas agrees to move in with us, he can be your daddy.” His gaze lifts up towards Castiel. “If he would like to.” 

The breath gets knocked out of Castiel’s lungs. Claire squeals in excitement and runs over to Castiel, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down, stars in her eyes.

“Cas! Cas! Move in with us! Please please please please please!”

A bit dazed, Castiel looks down at Claire, who is biting her lower lip as she looks up at him hopefully. He lifts his gaze to Dean, whose expression is soft but sincere, green eyes inquiring. John looks like he’s intruding on something sacred, but he’s just over Dean’s shoulder in the kitchen, looking on with curiosity in his gaze and, if Castiel can read his expressions properly, fondness in his smile. 

“Whaddya say, Cas?” Dean asks.

Castiel is good at compartmentalizing. It’s not that he’s a robot - he just can typically get a handle on his thoughts and emotions. It’s rare that he gets frazzled enough that he can’t think out a proper reply, but at this exact moment in time, he knows what his brain wants to say, but his mouth isn’t quite cooperating. So, he picks up Claire in his arms and spins her around while she squeals happily, his heart bursting at the seams, peppering kisses over her face. Claire clings to him, wrapping all of her limbs around him, and with her in his arms Castiel walks over to Dean, reaching out with a hand to tug the man close to him so he can press a kiss to his lips. 

Claire claps excitedly, cheering loud enough to make Castiel’s ears ring, and he and Dean are smiling too much for it to actually be a kiss instead of their mouths pressing together. Claire reaches for Dean and clings to both of them, the best group hug Castiel has ever been a part of, his face burying into Dean’s neck.

“Thank you,” Castiel breathes. “Thank you both.” 

Dean’s arm winds around Castiel’s body, hugging his daughter and his boyfriend tight, replying with a slightly choked up, “You’re welcome.”

“I’m hungry,” Claire suddenly complains, breaking the moment.

Dean pulls away with a laugh, ruffling her hair and grabbing her to pull her off of Castiel. “Alright, alright, kiddo. Go wash your hands.” He sets her down and she beams at both of them before running to the bathroom, clearly oblivious to the monumental moment that just happened.

John clears his throat a little, and Castiel feels himself flushing. He’d just kissed Dean in front of him. 

And this was the first kiss that Claire had seen, as well.

“You sure you wanna live with this guy?” John asks, gesturing towards Dean with the neck of his beer bottle. His eyes are flashing in that playful way entirely unique to the Winchester clan. “He’s a slob.” 

“I’m not fourteen anymore, dad,” Dean says good naturedly. “I clean up after myself now.” 

“Only because you need to set a good example for Claire,” Castiel chides playfully, feeling the tension bleeding off of him, enjoying the way Dean petulantly rolls his eyes.

John is alright with his son dating a man. John is alright with his son asking a man to move in with him. John is alright with his granddaughter potentially having two dads. 

John is alright.

And so is Castiel.

\--

Claire moves back in that weekend, and Dean moves back into his own master suite in the farthest corner of the second level, and Castiel - well, Castiel moves in, too. Together for less than six months and then moving in together could be considered fast, if it weren’t also considered right. It doesn’t take much to get Castiel moved in; he doesn’t own many things, and the furniture and appliances had been easy to sell at a yard sale in Dean’s front yard. Dean is healing more and more every day, and Claire is being a big help (mostly by not climbing all over Dean like she used to; he jokes and says she’s getting too big for that anyway), and everything is just… good.

Almost too good.

Dean’s medication still makes him pretty groggy so the new routine becomes Castiel getting Claire up and ready for school in the mornings come Fall - which she _loves_. Castiel becomes quite good at styling her hair pretty much any way she wants it, and since she’s not riding the motorcycle once a week, her hair stays pretty all day. Claire is an easy kid, very simple and hardly peeps a complaint, and for that Castiel is eternally grateful. He doesn’t think he could have just been thrown into a parental role without any sort of cushion. So he gets Claire ready, takes her to school, and then goes to work for mostly half days. The more time he spends with Dean and Claire, as well as their friends and family, the more Castiel reflects on how much his life is changing.

He especially reflects on how much he still hates his job. 

“Why don’t you quit and become a trophy husband?” Balthazar suggests one day at lunch.

Castiel pokes his salad idly. “You know I can’t do that, Zar.”

“Forgive me if I’m making assumptions, but I have a suspicion that Dean wouldn’t be terribly opposed to the idea.” 

Castiel glances over at his friend, who has his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile on his lips. 

“The man is head over heels for you, Cassie. And you, him. You can always search for another job, but perhaps you should consider cutting your losses for Sandover and take a break.”

“I had a break,” Castiel replies. 

“Being Dean’s caretaker most certainly was not a break,” Balthazar says patiently. “Not a real one.”

Castiel considers this. Whenever Castiel comes home even the slightest bit grumpy because of work Dean doesn’t say anything, but his concern is in his gaze. The discussion of Castiel quitting has only come up once and had threatened to be their first real argument; Dean _would_ be ok with Castiel quitting and spending time at home, and it makes Castiel a bit uncomfortable to think about just… not working. Being a stay at home dad. And he’s well aware of the fact that if he quit Sandover he would have glowing recommendations and be able to get a job literally anywhere else, but that would also be some sort of accounting job, and Castiel is just… over it. Accounting, that is. But he’s unsure of what other skills he can offer to the workforce, so at Sandover and with accounting is where he stays. 

He’s just, in a phrase: too old for this shit.

“You should talk to your beau,” Balthazar says. “And I mean _talk_. I know you haven’t voiced all of those worries floating around in that smart noggin, and he can’t help you if you won’t fully open up to him.”

Castiel suppresses a sigh. He hates when Balthazar is the voice of reason. “I will.” 

“Good. Now: when you’re a trophy husband you should definitely start a blog…”

\--

When Castiel gets home that afternoon Dean is in the garage. Well- he can’t see him, but there’s Zeppelin blasting from the old radio on one of the shelves and the sound of the air compressor is rumbling through the neighborhood, so it’s a pretty safe guess to assume that Dean is working on something. Castiel finds himself smiling; it’s been since before the accident - which this week was officially four months ago - that Dean has worked on any sort of projects, and Castiel finds himself thinking that this is most definitely the last step of healing for the younger man.

He parks his car and gets out, deciding to detour into the garage to see what Dean is up to. The first thing he sees is the mangled mess of Dean’s racing bike propped up on some holders, and he winces internally. It’s a huge reminder that Dean is lucky to even be alive right now. Castiel shakes it off and takes a few more steps until he sees Dean sitting criss cross on his crawler, wrist-deep in the inner workings of the bike, grease smudged on his arms and cheeks. He glances up when he senses Castiel and flashes him his trademark handsome grin; Castiel feels his heart flutter, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.”

“How much do you think it will take to get it back into working order?” Castiel asks, gesturing towards the mangled mound of metal.

Dean purses his lips in thought, eyes running over the bike appraisingly. “Coupla months. Gotta order parts, gotta hammer out the dents. Think I’ll just rebuild it from the ground up.” He shifts so he can stand, carefully so that the crawler doesn’t slip out from beneath him. He grabs a rag out of his back pocket to start wiping his fingers clean. “Could use a project.”

Castiel nods in agreement. Dean is definitely the type that needs to stay busy in order to stay happy. 

“Anyway, what’s up?” Dean asks.

Castiel tilts his head. Even though Castiel had come in to the garage to greet him - because he always finds Dean and greets him when he comes home - Dean seems to sense the underlying dilemma currently twisting at Castiel’s guts. He always does. Dean’s innate ability to be able to pinpoint Castiel’s whirlwind thoughts without a single word or tell would be unsettling if Castiel didn’t appreciate it so much.

“I…” Castiel licks his lips. He may as well be honest. “I have been thinking about my job.” 

Dean gives Castiel a slightly knowing look, but he gives him a reassuring smile. “What about it?” 

Castiel swallows. Just come out and say it- it’s nothing Dean hasn’t thought or voiced before. But still, Castiel wants to put his best foot forward, anyway. “I would like to start things off by saying your money matters not to me. The life we have started to create together is something that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Being a part of Claire’s life is incredibly important to me and I am thankful every day that I am in it. A family is something I never even dreamed I could have for myself, and yet here I am, living that life that seemed so far away for me.” He pauses to take a breath, and Dean’s smile softens as he nods, gesturing for Castiel to continue. “Dean, you and Claire mean so much to me.”

Dean’s smile turns a little amused. “I know, buddy. And you mean a lot to us, too.” He tosses his rag onto his workbench and walks towards Castiel, reaching out to take the man’s hands. Castiel hadn’t realized that he’d been wringing them nervously while he’d been talking. “You don’t gotta come at me with a speech, y’know. Just say what’s on your mind.”

Castiel takes a deep breath, turning his hands so he can hold Dean’s wrists, causing Dean’s fingers to wrap around his own in turn. He levels his gaze with Dean’s. “I want to quit my job.”

Dean’s smile is breathtaking. “So quit.” 

Castiel’s throat closes up a little, eyes searching. “Dean-” 

Dean shakes his head, pulling a hand away to wave it idly. “Cas, c’mon. You hate your job. I know it. You’ve basically gone part time and there’s still a storm cloud over your head for half the week. Workin’ there doesn’t make you happy. So: quit. And we can think about what happens next when the time comes.” His eyes turn sincere, soft. “An’ I don’t wanna be that guy, but when you’re down, the rest of us get down, and it kinda sucks.”

Castiel takes this information to heart. Of course his moods affect everyone else- he knows Claire can sense when he’s mildly cranky because she’ll be especially quiet or scarce and honestly, it breaks his heart knowing that she can read him like that. Can read him like Dean can. “I can’t just _not_ work-” Castiel protests weakly, the fight leaving him. 

“You _are_ working, though.” Dean tugs Castiel closer to wrap an arm around his shoulders in a careful hug, clearly not wanting to transfer any of the grease on his body to Castiel. “You’ve been taking care of me n’ Claire, and shit, I think this is the cleanest my house has been since the day I bought it an’ it was empty. You’ve been keeping me from going stir crazy and you’ve also been helpin’ Jo out. Cas, you’re doin’ so much. And I’m so thankful.” 

Castiel melts against Dean, feeling the fight leave him altogether. “Is it enough?” 

“Hey,” Dean lifts a hand to tilt Castiel’s chin so they can make eye contact. “You’re more than enough no matter what you’re doin’, as long as you’re with us.” 

Castiel’s heart expands three times his size. He won’t ask Dean if he means it, because he knows he does, and he won’t ask Dean to repeat himself or verify things, because he knows them to be true- so he just falls quiet and leans in to press a soft kiss against Dean’s lips. “Thank you.” 

Dean nibbles his lower lip softly and then pulls away, patting his ass with a playful hand. “I’d do anythin’ for you, angel. Remember that.” 

Ducking his head to hide the blush spreading over his features, Castiel nods and pulls away. He squeezes Dean’s forearms warmly, and then takes a step away to gather himself. “Will you be out here all afternoon?” 

“Just ‘til it’s time to get Claire,” Dean says. “Gonna pick her up myself today.” 

Castiel nods. He can’t believe how light he feels. “She’ll love that.”

Dean reaches out to catch Castiel’s wrist, “But we still got a little bit of time to ourselves.” His smile is wolfish, roguishly handsome as he pulls Castiel back into his personal space. “And I find that I’ve been missin’ my boyfriend somethin’ fierce these past few months.” 

Castiel can’t help the tiny smile on his lips. “I’ve been right here the whole time, Dean.” 

Dean rolls his eyes slightly, “C’mon Cas, throw me a bone.”

Castiel’s smile turns amused. “What ever do you mean?” 

“I’ve _missed_ you.” There’s a soft, playful, _sinful_ growl to Dean’s voice when he replies, and the shiver that races through Castiel’s fingertips and toes nearly catches him off guard. Dean’s rough fingers skate up Castiel’s forearms before his palms cup his elbows, drawing the slightly shorter man chest to chest, and then Dean’s head is dipping so he can mouth at the bolt of Castiel’s jaw. “Practically all healed up now, y’know.”

Heart rate spiked, Castiel marvels how he always gets so blindsided by his attraction to Dean. One minute he’s pretty much unaffected by the man, and then in the next, he’s scrambling to figure out which way is up. Dean can turn on the charm like a switch and while it always sideswipes Castiel, he secretly loves the way it ramps him up. Going from zero to one hundred is something he hasn’t been able to do since he was a teenager, and yet it’s something Dean can accomplish with a look, a touch, a word. 

“You should still take it easy,” Castiel warns, though it comes out as less of an iron will and more of a rubber band excuse. With Dean’s grip on his elbows Castiel’s hands are on the man’s biceps, which have only lost the smallest bit of muscle mass. With the help of physical therapy Dean’s physique hasn’t suffered too much from his injury, even if there might be the slightest bit of softness around his hips. Castiel quite likes it. 

“You could always do all of the work,” Dean suggests, voice low and breathy against the slope of Castiel’s neck as he kisses down towards the collar of his shirt. 

“Doesn’t that sound appealing,” Castiel replies dryly. 

Dean chuckles, the sound throaty and warm and reverberating through Castiel’s body from his collarbones to his kneecaps. “I’ll be able to return the favor sooner than later, angel. You know I wouldn’t leave you hangin’. Besides, you can’t tell me you don’t wanna have your way with me…”

Using his grip on Dean’s biceps, Castiel gently pushes the man away with every ounce of will he has. Cheeks flushed and mouth slightly dry, Castiel’s eyes search Dean’s - Dean’s, which are beautiful and bright and verdant and swirling with both lust and affection. Swallowing thickly, Castiel’s thumbs idly brush over the skin just beneath the hem of Dean’s sleeves. “I want nothing more than to ravish you,” Castiel admits aloud.

Dean rolls his eyes playfully at Castiel’s choice of words, but he smiles indulgently. In his eyes, though, there’s the slightest bit of trepidation. Insecurity. “You really won’t hurt me, Cas. We can take it easy.”

“I-” Castiel cuts himself off, licking his lips. He had come into the garage twenty minutes ago anxious about quitting his job, and Dean had erased those worries. Now his gut is twisting with an entirely new set of butterflies and Castiel’s heart rate picks up again, his gaze dropping from Dean’s earnest, honest eyes, to instead focus on the collar of his worn tshirt. “I am nervous about becoming… intimate with you.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “What?” 

Castiel clenches his jaw, still not lifting his eyes. “It’s been almost twenty years, Dean. What if I’m no good? What if I can’t do what you like? What if-” he’s stopped when Dean’s finger presses against his lips, not really effective at quieting him, but Castiel acquiesces into silence all the same.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is soft, and maybe slightly amused, which makes Castiel glance up at him. There’s a small smile on Dean’s features and Castiel should probably feel stupid or insulted, but instead he feels a little cowed. “Why you got all these worries in that pretty little head of yours, huh?” Dean’s hands move to cup Castiel’s jaw, fingertips in the longer parts of Castiel’s hair curling at the base of his skull. “I ain’t worried about that at all. Bein’ intimate with you… no matter what, it’s gonna be amazing. Because it’s _you_.” He leans in to press the softest, sweetest of kisses to Castiel’s lips. “Alright?”

Castiel allows his eyes to fall closed, his body relaxing minutely. He nods, the motion making their lips brush together again, and then Dean pulls back with a toothy grin. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of, Cas,” Dean says, his voice deep and sincere. He squeezes the back of Castiel’s neck and then fully pulls away, pulling his rag from his back pocket once more. “I’m gonna go pick up Claire and take her to the grocery store. Go inside, have a cup of tea, and take a bit of time for yourself, ok? We’ll stay outta your hair for a bit.” 

Castiel feels gratitude and love swell up inside of him so quickly and so hotly he feels like a balloon about to pop. “You don’t have to, Dean.”

Dean lifts a hand, raising a brow. “Quit it. Obviously I don’t have to, but I want to. When’s the last time you had a break from us, huh? Take it, sweetheart. We’ll be back for dinner.” 

Exhaling shortly, Castiel nods. Dean is just as stubborn as he is and while sometimes Castiel gets frustrated with that, in moments like this, he’s thankful for it; because without Dean digging his heels in, Castiel wouldn’t be able to see past his own nose sometimes. “Thank you, Dean.” 

Placated, Dean shoots Castiel a bright smile. He kisses his cheek as he passes, whistling a peppy tune as he tosses his rag onto his work bench and then moves towards the Impala, a little bounce in his step despite the slight limp.

Castiel watches Dean pull out of the driveway in his car, standing amongst tools, grease, and motorcycle parts. 

Good God, is he in love.

\--

In the case of Winchester vs Trenton, Cole is found guilty on all counts. The judge hands down the fine and the punishment with a swing of her gavel and the courtroom erupts in cheers. Hugs, kisses, handshakes and hi-fives are passed around even between complete strangers; Sam and Dean are embracing tightly at the table they’d been seated at when Castiel manages to make his way through the crowd. Sam catches Castiel’s eye over Dean’s shoulder and he grins huge, pulling away and clapping Dean on the shoulder to get him to turn around. It’s been eight months since the accident - Christmas is only a few weeks away - and Dean looks like the sun when he reaches out towards Castiel. Hands come up to cup Castiel’s jaw and Dean brings him in for an excited, sweet kiss, and a momentary flash of panic passes through Castiel at being kissed in this setting but the cheering intensifies and both he and Dean are being clapped on the back in congratulations, and Castiel can’t believe that this is his life. 

He is in love, he is loved, and they are accepted for exactly who they are.

And- well, now they’re filthy rich, but the most important thing is that Dean has the rest of his life ahead of him.

The rest of their lives ahead of them. 

Word gets passed around through close friends and family that there will be a celebration at the Roadhouse, and everyone disperses from the courthouse to head to the restaurant still wearing their Sunday best. Castiel had had one of his nicer accounting suits tailored and pressed but Dean looks like he stepped out of an Armani magazine - and for that matter, so does Sam - and it’s hard for Castiel to keep his eyes off of his boyfriend. Like, at all.

At the Roadhouse people are rowdier than usual, and even people who weren’t in the courtroom congratulate Dean on his victory. Good news travels fast. Behind the bar Jo and her mother Ellen are beaming, looking alive with all of the business pouring into their doors, calling out drink orders and names and yelling back food orders to the kitchen. All of the patrons push together all of the tables to make a giant round (square) table, fit for a King and his men. Castiel can’t remember the last time he’s been a part of such a momentous, joyous occasion. 

Halfway through dinner John brings Claire by so she can congratulate her father on his win, even though she only understands that “you beat the bad guy, daddy!”. She stays to eat and sits on Castiel’s lap pretty much the whole time, coloring a picture that Jo dropped off and chattering about what she wants to do over winter break (Castiel doesn’t think they’ll be able to hike Mt. Everest, but ice skating is definitely something he can pull off). Charlie sweeps Castiel up in conversation about her private IT business and how she could use someone to help her with paperwork; with a waggle of her brows she says the position could be worked remotely, from anywhere, and then she slips her business card into the breast pocket of Castiel’s blazer before engaging Dean in a game of quarters. Jody compliments Castiel on how well he’s fitting into the Winchester’s lives and says Claire hardly ever stops talking about him. Donna chimes in to say that they should organize a sleepover for all the kiddos, maybe even Christmas themed, and Castiel feels an incredible warmth sizzling pleasantly in his veins.

This is family.

This is everything he’s ever dreamed of having. 

John gives Dean a rather manly one-armed hug and says he must be taking Claire home, and Claire hardly puts up a fuss because Castiel promises her that tomorrow afternoon they can pull out all of her favorite Christmas DVDs in preparation to be watched over the holiday break. A few more people taper off and next to Castiel Dean is declaring his love for pretty much every person that stops and says goodnight to him, his smile infectious and his cheeks flushed from both alcohol and pleasure. It’s been a while since Dean has been able to get drunk - doctor’s orders - and Castiel is finding the man increasingly more… cute, as the evening goes on.

By the time Jo and Ellen start kicking people out Castiel is happy to help Dean stand, the slightly taller man’s arm thrown over Castiel’s shoulders as they make their way out of the bar. Dean will probably have a monster hangover in the morning but Castiel has already committed himself to helping the man through it. He’s been through so much - he deserves to let loose. Castiel is more than happy to take care of the aftermath of such an amazing night. The ten minute drive home consists of Dean belting out every single song the plays on the classic rock station, and when they make it home Dean nearly trips up the stairs.

“Perhaps I should have left the wheelchair ramp,” Castiel jokes lightly as they spill through the front door.

Dean snorts a laugh, “Fuck man, I can’t believe you even built one fr’ me. Didn’t know you were such a handyman.” 

“Following instructions isn’t difficult,” Castiel says with a shrug. He leans Dean up against the wall of the foyer so he can kneel and start untying the other man’s shoes. 

Dean puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder to help keep his balance. “S’hot. An’ you learned a lot about yer car, too. Quick learner.” 

Castiel smiles a little wryly as he puts Dean’s shoes away, and then his own. He stands and takes Dean’s arm over his shoulders again, helping him up the stairs. Dean still has a bit of a limp - and most likely always will - but it’s extra noticeable thanks to the alcohol buzzing through his system. Once upstairs Castiel gets Dean in the bathroom to brush his teeth and then shuffles him to the bed, pushing him down onto it. Dean’s body bounces slightly before sinking into the soft bedspread and then he stretches the length of his spine, groaning in satisfaction.

Getting Dean undressed isn’t difficult, although he’s participating about as much as Claire does when she falls asleep on the couch and has to get moved to her bedroom and changed into jammies. Basically it’s easy for Castiel to do his job and once Dean is stripped down to his boxers, his suit draped over the desk chair, Castiel starts undressing himself as well. Climbing into bed with Dean still hasn’t lost its surreal sensation, and whenever Dean curls up into Castiel like he’ll die if he doesn’t, Castiel falls harder and harder. 

“Cas,” Dean murmurs against Castiel’s collarbone.

“Hm?” He hums in reply, fingers carding gently through Dean’s hair, picking through the leftover hair product. 

“You gonna take Charlie up on her job offer?” 

Castiel raises his eyebrows in surprise. “You heard that?” 

Dean huffs a soft laugh against Castiel’s pec. “Told her weeks ago to ask you about it. She’s always complainin’ about the paperwork side of her business.”

Castiel’s fingers are still dancing across Dean’s scalp as he stares up at the ceiling. “She said I could work from home.”

“Should do it,” Dean says. His words are a little clearer now, but he sounds exhausted. “Stay at home dad.” 

Castiel chuckles softly. “I will consider it. Charlie is wonderful and the payroll options we discussed were… very attractive.” 

“She’s a genius,” Dean hums. “Treat ya right.” 

Nodding slowly, Castiel’s fingers slide down the side of Dean’s neck. “I am very thankful to be a part of your world, Dean, and to be friends with the people in it.” 

“Nah,” he can feel Dean’s lips smiling against his skin, “we’re lucky to have _you_.”

Smiling fondly, Castiel concedes.

They both managed to luck out.

Castiel’s life is filled with the brightest of colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i am coming off of both hiatus and vacation and i feel like i slipped out of an alternate reality  
> this chapter was basically all communication and i'm not 100% happy with it but if i kept editing i was going to scrap it and start over, so this is what you get.  
> one more chapter to go!!! quit side-eyeing that E rating you guys know i won't leave you hangin  
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) to see what shenanigans i'm up to


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final installment.   
> one last thanks to [Michi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michi27). without you, this fic wouldn't have been a thought in my head.   
> you are incredible. i love you with all my heart.   
> i hope your birthday has been amazing ♥

Castiel isn’t totally immune to Dean. He probably never will be. Despite his insecurities, little bells go off in his head at specific touches, certain smiles, and casual words. And not warning bells - in fact, quite the opposite. It’s not even about his insecurities all of the time - for the past few months it’s been about Dean’s injuries, and not wanting to jostle or stress him out too much. 

… Physically.

But as previously mentioned, Castiel is absolutely, irrevocably, utterly, _not_ immune to Dean. The way he looks, the way he smells, the way he touches. 

Helping Dean shower in the beginning hadn’t been difficult; the garish scar winding from kneecap to ribcage was a pretty efficient boner killer. But as Dean healed and the coloring of the mottled scar turned back to a relatively fleshy color, it was getting hard to not pointedly look at Dean’s… well. For the most part Dean washed his own privates while Castiel lowered to scrub at his legs and feet since Dean couldn’t really bend that way for a while, and it was truly a blessing that he was spared that task. 

Then, as Dean healed, they started sharing the shower together out of habit. Dean was able to wash himself head to toe without difficulty, and with the absence of Claire, sharing space together was just second nature - for both of them. Castiel warmed up easily to Dean’s casual affection, knowing that Dean is the type of person to need physical reassurance constantly. While that isn’t really how Castiel operates, he finds himself falling into patterns and even craving the same simple intimacy that Dean is after. 

Over the months Castiel has had to will away many erections. His body became attuned to Dean’s in a way that it hasn’t for any other person, and even though he knows - he _knows_ Dean knows - he pointedly does not discuss it. Dean’s health has always come first since the accident, and while Castiel has had his own selfish reasons for putting off sexual intimacy, the main point was that Dean’s body needed to be healed and healthy enough before exploring that territory. 

The tension is only palpable when Dean’s pupils dilate, when he wets his lips, and Castiel feels his gaze like a caress. 

Most of the time it’s manageable, though. Especially after Claire moves back in. 

Which brings us to… now. A year after Dean and Castiel met at the gas station. 

Dean is fully healed. He’s still in the process of rebuilding his motorcycle but the project is nearing its completion; Dean has even gone out on his cruiser for a few rides with Claire, getting his body and mind reacquainted with the prospect of riding. Most of the mental roadblocks have been overcome, but Dean has gained a bit of weight (and Dean argues that he didn’t know Castiel would magically turn into Chef Ramsey under just a few directions and with the proper ingredients) so he’s having a bit of a rough time adjusting on a more technical scale. 

Like the scale in the master bathroom that Castiel has to wrestle him off of, sometimes. 

(Castiel honestly likes the bit of softness around Dean’s waist, but he would never say that out loud.) 

Ever supportive, though, Castiel readjusts his cooking habits to include meal prepping for Dean. Claire doesn’t care what she eats as long as she’s fed, and Castiel is constantly thanking his lucky stars that he’s step-parent to such an easy kid. 

At present, Claire is away at Kaia’s for the weekend, leaving Castiel and Dean to their own devices for the first time in a while. Tonight it’s Dean in the kitchen, an eggplant casserole baking in the oven, while Castiel sits in the study adjacent to the mudroom. Dean never really used this space so Castiel took it over once he accepted Charlie’s job offer, and he’s got a nice set up with a sturdy desk, cushy chair, and bookshelves lined with his own collection. It’s his own little private retreat - like Dean has his garage - and for the most part both Dean and Claire know not to bother him when he’s working. He always keeps the french doors open, though. Just in case.

Finishing the spreadsheet Charlie needed tweaked, Castiel shuts down his laptop and closes it, leaning back in his chair and pulling his glasses off of his features so he can massage the bridge of his nose. The work he’s doing for Charlie is pretty much what he’d been doing at Sandover - only now he has just one client, instead of a dozen. And he answers to _himself_ , and while in the beginning he was unsure of working freelance like this, Charlie has nothing but praise and thanks for him. 

The fact that she pays him well over his previous salary is no contest. He should have listened to Dean a lot sooner about quitting and finding someone who can actually appreciate his talents. 

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice is soft from the doorway, and Castiel glances up, feeling warmth spread through him. Working from home is also an incredible change of pace. Able to set his own hours, he’s fallen into the parental role quite easily. Now that Dean is healed he’s spending more time fixing up his bike and planning his reentry to the circuit, making his rounds from the track, to the auto shop, and whatever press conferences he needs to be a part of. Announcing his return to the racing world was the sports story of the century and Castiel teases Dean about being famous, but it’s true - Dean’s been on magazine covers, has had multiple television and radio interviews, and is a modern fairy tale. 

Dean eats it up.

Castiel keeps him humble, and is happy to support him quietly from the comforts of their own home. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets, standing up from his chair. He pushes it neatly under his desk and walks towards Dean, who has his arms out ready. Castiel leans into the slightly taller man, resting his cheek on his shoulder, arms loose around Dean’s waist as he sort of sags against him. While working from home initially seemed like a leisure, he’s still tired at the end of a ‘shift’. 

Dean’s arms are stronger than ever as they wrap around Castiel and hold him close. “Wanna hear the agenda for the night?” 

“Wow me with your planning skills,” Castiel says dryly into Dean’s neck. 

Dean takes it in stride. “First: dinner. Some champagne.” Castiel’s lips curl against Dean’s skin, Dean’s fingers dancing up and down Castiel’s spine. “Then: I’ll draw us a bath. We’ll use the jets,” his voice pitches a bit lower. “Got one of those bath bombs you really like.”

“The one with the bee?” Castiel asks. That particular bath bomb has honey as an ingredient and it leaves the skin feeling divine. 

Dean chuckles, the vibration reverberating through Castiel. “Yeah, that one. After the bath, a massage…”

“Dean,” Castiel hums. “Are you trying to seduce me…?” 

Dean pulls away slightly, his eyes searching Castiel’s. Reflected in them is warmth, affection, love, and… something else. Insecurity, maybe? Castiel reaches up to cup one side of Dean’s face, thumb stroking under the man’s eye gently. Leaning in, Castiel presses the softest of kisses to Dean’s lips. 

“Your plans sound wonderful.”

The fact that Dean physically relaxes makes Castiel feel the slightest flash of guilt. It’s not that he’s been rebuking Dean’s advances - it just hasn’t been the right time, or place, or Dean was having an off day and required space rather than smothering. But now… now feels good, now feels right, and the open expressions flickering over Dean’s face have Castiel feeling like they _need_ to move forward. Not that sex is everything - they have clearly proven that it’s not the crux of their relationship - but sex is the final step in solidifying their relationship.

Making it real.

And this is as real as anything has ever been for Castiel. He wants to give himself over to Dean, wholly, fully, truly. 

Standing there in the study, wrapped in each other’s arms, green and blue, Castiel finds words falling from his lips as easy as saying hello.

“I love you, Dean.” 

He hears Dean’s breath catch, feels his fingers tighten in the material of his tshirt. In their house, with dinner cooking in the oven, promises of a bubble bath and a massage, Castiel has always had these feelings for Dean, but never knew when to say them. He figured it would come with some sort of fanfare - everything else in their life had moved along so smoothly, so simply, perhaps a declaration deserves a little bit more zest. 

But saying it just like this, right now, with Dean looking at Castiel like he hung the moon, Castiel suddenly realizes that nothing they do _needs_ to be anything. 

It just is. 

And Castiel has loved Dean for long before saying the words out loud. 

“Cas,” Dean sounds a little choked up, and he clears his throat, his boyish smile always one that melts Castiel from the inside out. “Fuck, Cas. I love you, too.” 

They meet in the middle for a kiss; sweet, tender, slow. Castiel’s hand slides from Dean’s cheek up into his hair, his other hand clutching at Dean’s good hip. Dean wraps Castiel up so tight in his arms Castiel loses his breath and then laughs at the crazy strength of Dean’s hug, having to break the kiss so he can chuckle breathlessly.

“Dean- I need to breathe-” 

“Sorry-” Dean lets Castiel go, but his hands move up to Castiel’s face, cradling it gently so he can tilt his head down to press the softest of kisses to Castiel’s forehead. He’s still smiling when he pulls away. “Hungry?” 

“Quite,” Castiel says, allowing Dean to lead him out of the study by the hand. He makes Castiel sit down at the table so he can serve him, which is a pleasant change of pace from the past few months. Even though Dean has healed, Castiel had gotten so used to the role of caretaker that he automatically falls into it. So sitting idly by while Dean chatters about his day and dishes their food has pride and love curling pleasantly in his chest. 

Dean sits down across from Castiel, sending him a tender smile. Castiel pauses in picking up his fork, arching a brow at the other man. 

“... Is something on your mind?” Castiel asks, a bit warily. 

“It’s been a year,” Dean says. “Well- a little over a year.” 

Castiel sits back in his chair a bit, looking at the spread. Home cooked meal, champagne, the promise of a bubble bath and massage. 

Oh.

“Is this… an anniversary party?” Castiel asks, a bit of amusement sneaking into his voice. 

“I couldn’t remember the exact date we met. Or even the date we decided to uh, y’know, see each other,” Dean says, sounding a bit embarrassed. He soldiers on, “But it was this month.” 

“It was,” Castiel agrees, picking up his glass of champagne for a sip, his eyes focused on Dean. 

Dean seems to wilt a little under Castiel’s intensity. “And uh, anyway. I know I thank you all the time for- y’know, not… leaving me. With all the stress and shit you had to go through with me.” Castiel makes to interrupt, but Dean holds up his hand. “I know it was your choice and you were happy to do it, but Cas, we barely knew each other. You coulda easily dumped my ass when things got difficult, but you didn’t. And that’s a testament to your character, and just… you’re such a great guy. I respect the shit outta you.” 

Castiel feels a wry smile curling his lips. “I love it when you give eloquent speeches.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, I’m tryna spill my guts here.” 

Castiel nods his concession, taking another drink of champagne. 

“Having you here- having you as a true _partner_. I never thought I’d find that,” Dean admits, his gaze dropping briefly. Castiel’s heart aches. “I told you in the beginning no one wanted to date a career-driven, single dad. That wasn’t an exaggeration. I was only good for a hookup and nothin’ more. So I stopped dating. I stopped searching. But then I saw you and thought ‘fuck it’. Somethin’ about you, Cas.” Dean lifts his gaze, determined. “Somethin’ about you made me think I could be worth something more than that, again.” 

The table is too large for Castiel to reach across and hold Dean’s hand, and he sort of hates that. He stays in his seat, knowing that he’s meant to listen, not to speak - these thoughts are important to Dean, things he’s been thinking about since the beginning, and is only just now revealing. Castiel will listen with patience, because Dean deserves that. 

“You didn’t wanna jump in bed with me immediately which was confusing,” Dean huffs a laugh, “and really cool. You took an honest interest in my life - and Claire - and for once in my life my gut feeling was right. I’m sorry we started out the way we did, with all the misunderstandings and crap,” Dean licks his lips. “But you’ve taught me a lot about myself and shit, I thought I was done growin’ when I turned twenty-one, but I’ve learned with you that people grow like trees that keep spreading and reaching, not like balloons that reach capacity, get tied off, and then eventually pop.”

Castiel can’t help but laugh at that analogy. He covers his mouth, and Dean shares his smile. 

“Long story short, Cas. You’re it for me. This past year has proven that over and over. No one else is gonna put up with my shit.” 

“You’re right,” Castiel says with a grin. 

“And this- this isn’t a proposal or anything. ‘Cause somethin’ like that’s gotta be real special. But,” Dean taps his fingers on the table for a moment, before his voice softens. “I wanna spend the rest of my stupid life with you, Cas. And so does Claire.” 

This time Castiel can’t keep still. He calmly pushes his chair out, walks around the length of the dining table, and bends so he can hug Dean as tightly as possible. Dean reaches up to return the embrace, their knees knocking while Castiel attempts to stay upright, Castiel’s eyes stinging with happy tears as he keeps his face buried in Dean’s neck. 

After a few moments they break away, Castiel straightening and wiping at his eyes. Dean’s hands are on his waist, verdant eyes turned up, freckles displayed under a pretty flush as he smiles dopily at Castiel. 

“You’re truly an idiot,” Castiel says.

Dean nods.

“You’re stubborn and have horrible manners and embarrass me constantly in public,” Castiel continues.

Dean nods, his smile widening a fraction.

“When you get stressed you shut down and it hurts, and getting you to talk is like trying to pry open a car door with a raw spaghetti noodles.” 

Dean nods some more, his fingers tightening in their grip on Castiel’s hips.

“You swear in front of Claire and track grass clippings through the house after you mow the lawn.” 

Dean’s smile is radiant, his eyes bursting with love. 

“But you’re the most honest man I know,” Castiel’s voice softens. “And when Claire cries you always know exactly what to say. You know my favorite meals, you wake me up at ungodly hours to go on jogs, and you tell me when I have food stuck in my teeth.” He wraps his hands gently around the slope of Dean’s neck, thumbs tucked under the bolt of his jaw so he can keep his head tilted up. “You’re a blithering fucking idiot, and I love you.” 

Dean has the _audacity_ to wink at him. “And I’m pretty good in bed.”

Castiel pulls away, smile tugging at his lips. “That’s to be decided.”

Dean lets him return to his seat, and they finally pick up their forks to start eating. 

There’s a happy buzz in Castiel’s blood that has nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with the way the man at the other end of the table is staring at him like he wants to devour him for dessert. 

\--

Approximately two hours later, Castiel and Dean are soaking in the large tub in the master bath. Sitting reclined opposite each other, heads resting on soft pillows suction cupped to the ledge of the bath, the scent of honey and jasmine cling to the steam in the air as Castiel’s favorite bath bomb fizzles and spins in the waves. They’re quiet, mostly, chatting about mundane things - nothing too deep, nothing too stressful. They talk about Dean’s return to the circuit - a decision that Castiel respects, but still has some reservations about - and they talk about how much Castiel has changed and blossomed in a year. They talk about Claire’s friends and school, they talk about Sam and his wife and their young son. They talk about everything and nothing all at once, just enjoying each other’s presence.

After a bit of cajoling Dean gets Castiel to shift in the tub so that he lies back against Dean’s chest, Dean’s thighs bracketing Castiel’s sides. Though they’ve seen each other undressed frequently, Castiel has always taken care to keep his scars out of Dean’s sight, turning this way and that, or quickly dressing when Dean’s gaze lingers a bit too long for comfort. It’s a weird twist of shame and anxiety that Castiel feels, knowing that Dean knows those scars are there and doesn’t ask about them - not that he has to. It’s pretty clear as to where they came from, that time of Castiel’s life so very long ago. 

Now, Castiel can’t hide. He doesn’t want to. So when Dean gently nudges him to lean forward slightly to create space between his chest and Castiel’s back, Castiel exhales slowly and dips his head, trying to relax his frame. He inhales the scent of the bath bomb deeply, allowing it to infiltrate all of his senses and calm him down; he cups his palms over Dean’s bent knees, using the point of contact to ground himself as Dean’s fingers gently start tracing over the jagged lines. As a part of Castiel’s body that never saw extra care or even felt any touches, Dean’s fingertips feel… incredible. Castiel represses a shudder. He had thought that maybe sensations would be dulled due to the scar tissue and how deep under the skin it’s embedded, but it’s quite the opposite. He feels every direction Dean’s fingers take, feels every change in pressure, even feels the blunt edge of his nails sliding across his slippery skin. 

When he feels Dean’s lips, Castiel closes his eyes tight at the onslaught of sweet sensations that tingle through his body - a swathe of static electricity. 

“Is this ok?” Dean murmurs against his skin.

Castiel swallows around the emotional lump in his throat. “Yes.” 

Dean hums softly, his fingers and palms now more confident in their mapping of Castiel’s skin. He can feel Dean tracing the scars, but also feels him caressing the unmarred skin between, treating each centimeter of his back as precious as the rest of him. “I love you.” 

As easy as breathing, Castiel replies, “I love you.”

“You’re beautiful,” Dean says, his voice up by Castiel’s right shoulder. His hands drift down Castiel’s sides under the water. “I’m one lucky son of a bitch.”

Castiel can’t help but quirk a smile. “The moment was so romantic.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Dean says teasingly, his hands moving around Castiel’s waist to now start mapping out his stomach. 

Castiel automatically straightens to allow Dean more room, once again reclining back against Dean’s chest, the back of his head resting on Dean’s left collarbone. Their breaths sync up and Dean’s hands start getting a little greedy in their wanderings, his palms sliding up to Castiel’s chest. His thumbs brush over his nipples and Castiel feels his breath hitch without his permission, a little zing of heat filtering through his extremities. 

“Let me take care of you,” Dean’s voice has dropped back to a murmur, his hands seemingly trying to commit Castiel’s body to memory.

Castiel releases a breath and relaxes further against him, thumbs tracing idle patterns on the insides of Dean’s knees, the water swishing softly around them. Dean takes that as a green light. The steam curls up and around their heads and Castiel gets a little dizzy on the scent of the bath bomb and the feel of Dean’s hands sliding down to caress the insides of his thighs; Castiel spreads his legs, pressing them against Dean’s to open them both up, and he feels the brush of Dean’s half hard cock against the small of his back. 

Dean’s fingers are careful and slow as they rub along the crease of Castiel’s hip and thigh. Castiel closes his eyes and gives himself over to Dean, knowing full well that he can trust him. His own cock is already filling from the gentle attention, his body reacting more from the intent rather than the actual soft touches. The water sort of dulls the sensations of Dean’s hands moving over him, but Castiel catalogues them in his brain as his nerves fire in different areas. 

It feels like a dream, fluid and gentle and slow.

When Dean’s fingers wrap around his cock, Castiel’s head drops back against Dean’s shoulder, exposing his throat, his lips parting in a little moan as his erection fills. Pleasure sings through his body and he undulates his hips a little while Dean’s fingers start to stroke him, the water surrounding the touch making it feel like some sort of fractured reality. After a few moments of Dean learning the length and feel of Castiel’s cock Castiel reaches down, grabbing his wrist. Dean tenses as he stops, and Castiel licks his lips, trying to gather his breath.

“Bed.” 

Dean chuckles as they disentangle from one another. He pulls the plug from the tub and as they stand to get out of the bath he starts helping Castiel dry off, still standing behind him, peppering kisses along the nape of his neck and shoulders. They’re still slightly damp when they make it to the bed, Castiel climbing up and lying down on his back, holding his hands out towards Dean. Dean grins and climbs over him, dropping his head to plant a searing kiss to Castiel’s lips. Their tongues tangle, this territory more than familiar; they’re very guilty of making out like teenagers after Claire toddles off to bed, sharing both space on the couch and the flavor of each other on their tongues. 

Little bites and nips are exchanged until their lips are swollen and their cheeks are flushed; Dean pulls back, green eyes dark with lust and affection, and with that gaze focused on Castiel and the prospect of actually being able to _do something_ about it, Castiel can’t help but let out a little moan. Dean’s head drops so he can take one of Castiel’s nipples in his mouth, biting roughly and then soothing it with his tongue. Castiel’s fingers tangle in his humidity-damp hair, spine arching under the ministrations, legs spreading wide so Dean can lie between them. Their hard cocks brush and Castiel lets out a short, huffy breath, running his tongue along his teeth as he closes his eyes with the sensation. 

It’s a slow build up. Dean kisses and bites him and continues that cycle from neck to hip, leaving his own brand in his wake. Castiel forgets about the scars on his back, his mind only filled with the image of Dean worshiping his body. Dean even kisses and nips his way down to Castiel’s feet; he massages the arch lovingly, presses kisses to the sole, and grins wolfishly when Castiel recoils slightly from the tickle. Instead of letting Castiel’s feet drop to the bed he places them down carefully, and then smooths his hands over the soft hair decorating the tops of Castiel’s thighs.

They’d talked at length about this moment, albeit in spurts. From getting tested, to even discussing who would top the first time; honestly Castiel sort of thought that it would kill the mood, his need to go into everything in depth before it happened, but Dean only seemed happy to indulge in the discussions, as well as be the first one to initiate getting tested. Those moments had solidified Castiel’s feelings for Dean, and the knowledge that Dean would be the man he spends the rest of his life with. 

This man who takes such great care with him.

And this moment, happening right here in the present, is more than Castiel could have ever dreamed or hoped for. 

Dean is careful as he opens Castiel up. He uses his mouth, his fingers, and a patient skill and determination that has Castiel writhing and squirming beneath him. The snick of the lube cap barely registers in Castiel’s ears and when Dean is three fingers deep Castiel finds himself panting and moaning, his self-restraint withering away the instant he opens his eyes to look at Dean.

Dean looks wrecked.

He looks like he’s fighting every instinct within himself to make sure he goes slow and easy for Castiel. He’s a man of determination and focus and also a man of his word, but in that moment, something inside Castiel snaps. He doesn’t want Dean to be gentle with him. He doesn’t want to be treated like he’ll be broken with a tiny misstep. His eyes drift down towards the crooked scar going from Dean’s rib to his knee, fully healed, pink against freckled flesh. 

“Dean,” Castiel manages to make his mouth work. 

Dean’s gaze lifts to Castiel, fire in his eyes, forearm trembling as he keeps his fingers steady for the stretch. 

“Fuck me.” 

Castiel had been under the illusion, for a while, that he wanted to make love with Dean. Perhaps it wasn’t an illusion, per se - more of an understanding that their profound bond would be exacted in a moment of mutual desire and climax. 

Dean is three fingers deep and Castiel doesn’t want to go slow. 

Ever adaptable, Dean’s expression morphs from careful consideration to sinful delight. His fingers pull free from Castiel, he lubes up his cock, and then grabs Castiel’s legs to lift them up over his shoulders. 

A moment of silent communication passes between them, gazes locked, Dean’s cock nudging against Castiel’s hole. Castiel manages to let a smile spread on his lips, and he probably looks drugged (which isn’t far from the truth; getting high off of Dean is the best recreation) when he gives a little nod.

That’s all Dean needs.

He pushes in and slides home without hesitation until his balls are nestled against Castiel’s ass. His head dips, he curses under his breath, and his thumbs dig into the meat of Castiel’s thighs as he holds him bent in half. It’s raw and real and there’s no underlying sweetness or magic to it - it’s the culmination of a year of dancing around each other, of being in every situation, both physically and mentally imaginable, it’s the conclusion of their lives intertwining and becoming inseparable. 

Dean moves.

Castiel sees stars.

Neither of them are going to last long. Castiel doesn’t mind. With his knees by his ears as Dean fucks into him he reaches around to grab at Dean’s ass, fingers gripping and groping, helping Dean fuck as deep into him as he can go. His own cock is practically bumping his chin, and Dean has always known Castiel was flexible but the way Dean’s eyes zero in on the proximity of Castiel’s cock to his own mouth almost, _almost_ makes Castiel laugh, but any noise is fucked out of him and all garbled when Dean nails his prostate.

“Cum in me,” Castiel finds himself saying. He squirms his body until a leg falls off of Dean’s shoulder so he can wrap it around his thick waist instead, heel digging into the small of his back. “Dean.”

Dean buries his face in Castiel’s neck, panting wildly. He’s definitely over exerting himself but it’s clear he wants to, chasing after his pleasure; with the adjustment of position Castiel is able to snake a hand between their bodies and stroke himself, his head pressing back into the pillows as he does his best to meet Dean thrust for thrust. The room is stuffy, the moisture on their skin having evaporated and nearly hanging in neat little clouds above them, raining down the ecstasy that works its way into Castiel’s pores, straight through to his veins. Castiel is the first to reach orgasm, the pleasure rocketing through him, cum splurting in hot ribbons up his chest and onto his neck and jaw. Dean follows quickly after, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside of Castiel. 

They stay joined for a few moments, and when Dean’s softening dick slides out so does a dribble of cum, making Castiel’s nose wrinkle slightly. Dean’s reaction is pretty much opposite; he watches Castiel’s hole flex and flutter, cum slowly oozing out, and then reaches down with his fingers to gently wipe them along his rim. 

“Ah,” Castiel sucks in a breath. His rim is stretched pleasantly and it’s overly sensitised, Dean’s fingers making tiny electric currents zip up from his perineum to his lips. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, not really sounding like it. That’s alright. He allows Castiel’s body to fall onto the bed in relaxation as he leans down to press a slow kiss to the man’s lips, making a content noise as he does so.

Castiel, after a few moments, squirms with the sensation of drying cum on his body, and Dean dutifully gets up out of bed to go fetch a wet, warm cloth. Cleaning up doesn’t take long, and soon enough they’re snuggled up under the blankets with the lights off, naked and sated. Castiel brings Dean to his chest, helping the slightly larger man pillow into the crook of his arm, Dean letting out a pleased rumble once he’s comfortable. Sifting his fingers through sandy locks, Castiel stares up at the dark ceiling, a small smile seemingly permanently etched onto his lips.

“Hey,” Dean says softly into the darkness.

“Hm?” Castiel hums in reply, fingers sliding down over the curve of Dean’s head to let his fingertips dance over the shell of his ear. 

“Was that ok?” 

Warmth blooms in Castiel’s chest as he hugs Dean’s frame tightly to himself. “It was perfect, Dean. Thank you.” 

Dean chuckles a little, clearly relieved as he turns his head to bury his face in Castiel’s armpit. “Good.”

Castiel wiggles a little at Dean’s hot breath wafting over his armpit hair, “Hey-” 

Dean keeps Castiel pinned, nose firmly in the curve of the other man’s underarm, tangling their legs together so Castiel can’t get away. He settles, the pressure in Castiel’s underarm less ticklish now, and Castiel turns his head to press a kiss to Dean’s hair.

“You’re odd.”

He feels Dean grin against his skin. “Love you.” 

“Love you, Dean.” 

\--

Dean is working on his motorcycle. Castiel doesn’t know at what stage he’s at in the repairs, but it looks more whole than it has it since the crash, so that’s probably good. He brings Dean a bottle of water and takes up residence on the workbench, quietly watching Dean as he works. Classic rock plays in the background, tinny with the echoes of the garage, Dean covered in grease and dirt as he brings his pride and joy back to life.

\--

Castiel gets Claire ready for school. 

“Daddy,” she says thoughtfully to her reflection. Castiel is standing behind her in the bathroom, carefully drawing her hair up into a ponytail using a brush. She’s standing on a small stool so he can reach her without bending.

“Hm?” he replies a bit distractedly. He wonders if he’ll need two hair ties for today’s high ponytail.

“You make the best hair styles.”

Castiel smiles softly, using his fingers to wind the band around Claire’s thick, curly hair, pulling gently at the thick of her hair to tighten it. He grabs another hair tie, this one with a pretty blue bow on it, and says, “Thank you, Claire.” The curling iron on the bathroom counter beeps when it’s ready, and Castiel gives her ponytail princess curls sealed with sweet smelling hair spray.

\--

Dishes clank after a meal has been eaten; Castiel is standing at the sink, elbow deep in bubbles, an apron tied securely over his tshirt. Or is this Dean’s tshirt? Claire and Dean are seated at the now cleared table, Dean helping Claire with some of her homework. She’s making vague complaints, and he’s humoring her, but after a few moments Claire lets out a pitiful groan. 

“Fifth grade is hard!”

Castiel chuckles, putting the last clean dish in the drying rack. He grabs a towel to dry his hands and moves over to the table, sitting down adjacent to Claire and next to Dean. “What are you learning?”

“Times tables,” Claire pouts.

“Here,” Castiel leans in towards Dean so he can reach Claire’s homework, tapping gently on the page. “Let’s start here and work one problem at a time. There’s no need to get overwhelmed.”

Properly diffused, Claire nods with new determination as she puts her pencil to the paper.

Dean turns to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek.

\--

The vegetable garden is beautiful, and Claire and Castiel are both holding watering tins, carefully upending them over each blossom lovingly. Bell peppers, tomatoes, zucchini and cabbage are in full swing. Claire has a pretty sun hat on her head that matches her pretty floral print dress, and Castiel snaps a quick photo on his phone to send to Dean, who has been out with his coach all day. 

“Daddy, look!” Claire suddenly squeals.

Castiel looks up to see her bending towards a tomato plant, where a butterfly with powder blue wings has landed. The color matches her eyes. She smiles at Castiel, and Castiel feels his love for her grow.

\--

“Look at what you bought, all with your bigshot lawyer money!” Dean exclaims as Sam opens the front door of his newly purchased home. 

Castiel holds out a potted tomato plant, rolling his eyes. His other hand is holding Claire’s, who is giggling behind her hand. “Dean.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean says with a grin. “It was my case that paid for this mansion.”

Sam doesn’t even look bothered as he invites Dean, Castiel, and Claire into his new home. Jessica appears, baby on hip, looking radiant as ever. 

“Congratulations on your new home,” Castiel says. 

Jessica takes the plant with a thankful, wry grin. “Thanks, handsome. Wanna show us how to plant this beauty?” 

“I wanna hold Jack!” Claire says excitedly. Jessica hands the baby to her, and Claire holds him with all the love and care in the world.

Castiel spends the evening showing Jessica how to properly till her garden plot while Sam and Dean sip beers on the back porch, Claire occupied with Jack on a picnic blanket.

\--

Life isn’t what Castiel thought it would be, approaching his forty-fifth birthday. 

It is, however, everything he hoped it would be.

Everything is colors.

Nothing is grey. 

\--

Castiel is nervous. He and Claire are sitting in the VIP box at the race track, waiting for the current race to be over so Dean’s circuit can start. It’s been nearly a year and a half since the accident; it’s chilly for September, and Castiel had made sure Claire was all bundled up before they left the house. She’s wearing jeans, a tshirt with a soft sweater over it, a pretty purple peacoat and a burgundy beret over her curly blonde hair. Castiel is similarly dressed in jeans, a warm sweater, and a black peacoat, a navy scarf wound around his neck. Part of dressing nice for the event is in preparation for the inevitable paparazzi that will be swarming Dean whether he wins or loses, the whole nation enraptured by his Cinderella story. 

Already Castiel knows cameras are sneaking photos of where they are in their seats, but he’s too anxious to pay them any mind. Claire is much more at ease, her legs drawn up in her chair so she can lean into Castiel’s space and try to absorb some of his warmth. This isn’t an official race - these numbers aren’t going to reflect on the future season, but it’s a gathering of all-stars and favorites to tide people over while winter drags out the wait for the next season to start. Castiel shifts and easily drapes an arm over Claire’s shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing her opposite arm, watching the current riders zoom around the track. 

“D’you think daddy’s gonna win?” Claire asks.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answers honestly. “I just want him to drive safely.”

Claire nods in agreement. The crowd roars as the last lap of the current race concludes, checkered flags waving; Claire claps, but Castiel stays generally complicit, eyes on the track. There’s a mini ceremony for the top three riders and then the paparazzi and the crews are being ushered off of the fields. It takes twenty minutes for Dean’s circuit to get set up, and Castiel’s eyes are scanning the people on the track - after five minutes he spots Dean, all matte black, in a sea of reds whites and blues. 

“Look,” Castiel points towards Dean in the crowd.

Claire squints and follows his finger, then grins and claps. “Wow! His new suit looks awesome!”

Castiel smiles. “It does.”

Getting Dean back into riding shape hadn’t been as difficult as Dean made it initially seem. All of them eat generally healthy, but once Dean had his eyes set on riding again, eating healthy turned into the garden in the back yard that Castiel and Claire tend to together, as well as regular exercise regimens. Basically, Dean had gotten fit to ride, and Castiel had gotten fit just for the sake of it (as well as to support Dean). In any case, Dean had to order a new suit because his old one was a bit too snug (the muscle mass he gained in his upper body from having to baby his leg being the culprit - not that you’ll hear a single complaint from Castiel) and upon looking at other rider’s colors in the circuit, Castiel had suggested the matte black look. After Dean repaired his bike he got it repainted to match, and now he looks absolutely murderous as he swings his leg over the seat of his motorcycle, helmet in his hands as he leans slightly to listen to his coach. 

A signal is given and the racers all don their helmets, walking their bikes towards the starting line. Dean is near the middle of the pack, and as he settles he gets lots of thumbs up and waves from the other riders. He returns them all with gusto and Castiel’s heart warms at the sight, a smile on his lips at the easy camaraderie the racers all feel towards Dean. 

“Hey!” 

Castiel turns to see Sam and Jessica approaching the two empty seats next to Castiel. Little Jack is bundled up adorably in Sam’s arms. Smiling warmly Castiel stands up to give Sam a hug, and then Jessica, Claire greeting them loudly and happily.

“Just in time,” Castiel says as they all return to their seats.

“Woah, his new suit looks awesome,” Sam compliments, surprise in his voice. 

“He looks like Batman,” Jessica jokes, taking Jack from Sam so she can put him in her lap. She has a blanket around her shoulders that she wraps around the two of them for warmth.

Castiel smiles broadly. “He’d be thrilled to hear that.” 

A hush falls over the crowd as the last rider takes his place. The flagger in the booth holds out the flag, and Castiel’s eyes are on Dean as he flips his visor down and flattens himself on his bike, the sound of engines roaring nearly deafening in the outdoor stadium. The flag waves and the riders are off like a flash, accelerating fast as they approach the first curve in the track. A few riders pull ahead immediately, Dean safely still in the throng in about eight or ninth place. Castiel’s heart thuds against his chest. Claire cheers loudly with Jessica, and Sam is just as quiet as Castiel, both their eyes trained on Dean. 

On the third lap, Dean pulls away from the pack, trailing in third around the next bend. Castiel takes a few calming breaths, but he knows his knuckles are white on his arm rests. Even though it’s an outdoor track the noise is colossal, from the crowd cheering and the motorcycles revving, and Castiel’s eyes flick up to the big screen to see the camera zoom in on first, second, and third place. Dean’s following the first two like a phantom, and on the sixth lap he overtakes them by dodging between their bikes in a move that has Castiel’s heart stopping - and then he’s putting space between them for the last lap, racing over the finish line in first place, the crowd silent for a split second before going wild.

Everyone stands, including Castiel, cheering crazily. The press box opens and Dean pulls up to it, parking his bike and taking off his helmet. Castiel can’t make out details from this distance but he knows Dean is grinning huge, all sorts of proud and accomplished. 

“Daddy, let’s go down there!” Claire says, tugging Castiel’s hand. 

It takes him a second to realize she’s talking to him. It all clicks into place and then Sam and Jessica are moving out of the way so Claire can drag Castiel down to the winner’s circle; she knows just how to get there, and Castiel surmises she’s probably been there multiple times before. Her and Castiel spill out onto the raceway and Claire lets go of Castiel’s hand so she can run forward, him jogging slightly to keep up. People he doesn’t know are clapping him on the back and congratulating him and Castiel has a dazed smile on his face as he continues to follow Claire’s bouncing curls - finally in the winner circle he sees Dean scooping Claire up into his arms, smiling huge, eyes bright and skin flushed as cameras flash around them. When Dean catches sight of Castiel he holds his hand out towards him and Castiel walks forward without hesitation, taking his hand and allowing Dean to pull him in for an elated kiss.

The crowd goes wild, again, and when Castiel opens his eyes he sees their kiss replaying in slow-mo on the big screen. Laughing, feeling the rush of endorphins and the contagious joy emanating from Dean, they all crowd together as Dean is handed a trophy. Lots of different paparazzo tell them where to look, Castiel’s face hurting from how huge he’s smiling. Dean has him close, smelling like leather and motor oil, and soon Claire is put down so she can stand between and slightly in front of them, Dean and Castiel’s hands on either of her shoulders, their other arms draped across each other’s shoulders. 

Still high from adrenaline, Dean turns his infectious smile towards Castiel, who returns it, feeling nothing but love and pride for this man. Dean’s hand leaves Claire’s shoulder and he reaches into his zippered breast pocket, fishing for something - and then he’s pulling out a gold band, holding it between his gloved fingers. Camera flashes reflect off of the shiny metal and Castiel feels his heart stop for a completely different reason; Claire squeals and starts jumping up and down, turning around to look hopefully up at Castiel.

“How about it?” Dean asks, cheeky as ever, voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Behind him, Castiel sees the big screen zoom in on the ring in Dean’s fingers. 

Castiel shakes his head in bemusement, shifting so he can hold his left hand out. Dean manages to get the ring on despite the fact they’re getting jostled by excited friends and family and the general buzz of the crowd, and once it’s on, Dean moves a hand to grab Castiel by the waist and pull him in close. 

“Gonna ride with me forever?” Dean asks, green eyes bright against the Autumn sky.

“Cross my heart,” Castiel replies. 

Dean kisses him, and fireworks shoot into the clouds. 

Color explodes all around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)  
> love my work? i love coffee. check my [tumblr](https://vixxo.tumblr.com) bio for more information.
> 
> i'm attending vancon!

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote motorcycles once and it was a fucking smash so here we are again!!!!!! but with a plot!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) so you can watch me spiral into oblivion  
> this story was ALMOST called "pimp my ride" so please applaud david for physically pulling the keyboard away from me to save it


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